


Only A Name

by unshurtugal



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drama, F/M, M/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unshurtugal/pseuds/unshurtugal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate!AU: Kurt and Blaine are activists part of a revolution where they ritualistically adopt aliases and wear wrist cuffs as to not reveal the names imprinted there. They believe that people should fall in love the ‘natural way’. Little do they know they are each other’s true soulmate.</p><p> </p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <a href="http://s27.beta.photobucket.com/user/InsomniacofNoReturn/media/OANgraphic.jpg.html">
      <img/></a><br/>  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“It’s only a name,” Burt Hummel always told his son, for as long as he could remember; the makings of a future speech that would eventually be heard by billions. 

“It’s not homeowners insurance. It’s not a credit card statement. It’s not DNA coding for different traits. It’s not a feeling. It’s undefinable and ethnocentric. It’s bordering on mystical in an overall scientific world, and we put way too much stock into it.”

Bedtime stories of dinosaurs and talking anthropomorphic creatures was all but foreign in the Hummel house. Nothing else mattered. Only the cause.

Kurt had no siblings. He had no mother. The closest thing he had was a glimpse of his father’s wrist, a faded name that Kurt only once saw but couldn’t read since he was too young to comprehend the written word.

The outside world always conflicted with what his father said but Kurt always listened. Burt Hummel was always right. He always did right by his son.

“It’s just a little name that defines people and consumes people,” he’d continue to say, often tracing Kurt’s then bare left wrist. “It gives you expectation and tells you who you need to be, but nobody can do that but you.”

The older Kurt got, the more his wrist began to periodically burn with the beginnings of the formations of dark etchings, much like an ordinary tattoo. The sensations got more intense the closer Kurt got to puberty, the lines more defined until he was about 12 when the words finally completed, black and stark against his pale skin.

It wasn’t long after that Burt Hummel bought his son a cuff to match his own, securing it to his wrist for the rest of his adolescent life, telling him to forget the name.

But no matter what Kurt believed in, or how much in it he did; no matter how much time had passed since he’d gotten that short moment alone to admire the cursive writing of the name, tracing his fingernail across the smarting letters.. Kurt could never, ever forget.

_Blaine Anderson_.


	2. Ben

What had just been a philosophical discussion with his insightful son at the time, Burt Hummel had started a revolution. 

To everyone else though, he was just Burt. Kurt was the only person alive that could reveal last name heritage, but he too, had adopted an alias “Kal” and a lot of the time, he forgot what his name actually was.

The cause began in Kurt’s youth, and once he became a man at age 18, it had blossomed into over hundreds of thousands of followers and advocates, possibly millions.

As figurehead of the revolution, Kurt’s father received a lot of flack. He appeared constantly on television specials and was stopped on the street. People accused him that the only reason he was doing all this was because he probably lost his one true soulmate long ago, and had nothing else better to do. Kurt also had to privately admit that he too, wondered these things about his father.

But Kurt knew better to know that his father was a stubborn, resilient man. And utterly brilliant. Kurt was too.

Burt taught his son that people become too absorbed, no _consumed_ with that little name etched on their wrists. They let it completely take over their lives, never really allowing themselves to live.

“Commoners” they were called, the lay people, they’d move to certain places they wouldn’t imagine in their desperation. They would quit jobs that secure their lives just for hunches. They would turn down other people and would-be opportunities just because they don’t have the right name.

They are so obsessed with “the one” that they throw everything else that matters away.

Kurt looked down on these people. Pitied them, really. He wanted to help them be free of these shallow existences. Sure, there have been legends and lore of the other-wordly greatness that is to meet and be with one’s true soulmate, but why sit around and wait when there is so much more life to live?

Even before the “Burt Movement” people sometimes never even met their soulmate. Sometimes no name ever appeared on other’s wrists. These people either were ostracized or died of broken hearts.

Kurt never wanted to be like that.

Even just as a young man he’s had fantastic love affairs with many gorgeous men whenever he could spare the time. But his true love and dedication was to the cause. Fundraising, recruitment, advertisements, help centers.. if Kurt believed in God he would have thought to be doing his work.

However, the ritualistic covering of the wrists and adopting of fake names was frowned upon by most of the modern world. It made things difficult for him growing up, feeling more different than he already was from the rest of his peers. But he didn't care. Kurt thought it was right. Kurt thought it made sense.

He believed in his father and the cause with every fiber of his being. 

Even if he and his fellows were shamed. They were told that they were ‘going against nature’ and denying the one true part of themselves; something that could never go away like all else.

Kurt wasn’t sure if they were right, too but all he knew was that he led a more fulfilled, worthy and confident path. He was his own person, and the cuff on his wrist is what kept him from being distracted.

Secretly though, Kurt mourned for Blaine Anderson... wondered about him, and who he was. He was probably soft-heartened romantic that would fly to Paris and back just because he found some guy named Kurt Hummel on Google. But they would probably never meet, and eventually each other’s names would fade to grey as their lives came to an end, never knowing the other.

Kurt only let that small pang of sadness and loss register in moments of complete isolation. He could never show weakness. He could never show surrender. No matter how heavy that cuff would weigh on him in moments of vulnerability. 

That was until he met _Ben_.

***

“You’re Kal right? Burt’s son?” 

Kurt was startled while in a stupor stapling some pamphlets by an overly eager voice and a brisk attention-grabbing tap on his shoulder. It was like an electric current down his spine.

“Yes,” Kurt responded breathlessly, turning to greet the new recruit. He was nothing short of beautiful.

He had bright, joyful hazel eyes that matched his voice, a smile stretched so wide across his face, Kurt couldn’t help but return it. The younger boy’s enthusiasm accentuated puppy-like features, so Kurt was instantly swooning. 

Kurt blinked, attempting to collect himself. “And you are?”

“I’m Ben,” he replied cordially, holding out his hand to shake, which Kurt took gratefully without hesitation. 

There was the briefest of beats the moment their skin met before Kurt’s wrist was erupting in pain, burning and smarting enough to make both of them tense their grip before letting go.

Kurt’s heart started thumping wildly in his chest, his breath now frighteningly short. He attempted to school his features and was wary enough to notice Ben was in a similar state of discomfort. There was a long pause as they searched each other’s eyes, wondering what to say. Trying to understand.

He glanced down at Ben’s wrist cuff briefly, noticing it was elaborately designed with bright colors and patterns, matching the bow-tie he was wearing. It oddly gave Kurt this sense of foreboding. 

Kurt felt Ben’s gaze still on him, so he looked back up quickly, biting his lip. He wondered if Ben had a similar experience to him, but then worried that he was being judged by his unusual reaction. Kurt wouldn’t blame him.

Either way it was, “ _Sorry_ ,” and Kurt’s face was hot from embarrassment, body stiff and alert. His vision seemed clearer, the air fresher.

Kurt’s wrist has burned similarly time and again before, but it was never quite like that, not since the day his mark made its final brand. But that was something to mull over another day, not when there was so much to be done.

“No problem,” Ben laughed easily, and as fast as the tension arrived, it was gone.

“Shall I show you around headquarters?” Kurt offered, presenting his arm for Ben to take. “My Dad’s speech isn’t for another hour.”

“Certainly,” Ben said, allowing a respectful nod of his head, which was coiffed with gel in a 50’s style ‘do.

 _What a fucking dream boat_ , Kurt’s mind sighed.

What Kurt didn’t realize was that this was the pivotal point in his life where everything changed forever.


	3. je ne comprend pas

Ben.. _was_.

He was a lot of things.

The whispers of reminders in Kurt’s subconscious told him that Ben was a lot more than he thought, but Kurt pushed those feelings aside, because he knew if he acknowledged them, all hell would break loose.

Ben’s advocacy was admirable. Desirable. He was young and fresh, and it made Kurt want to do better; to be better.

In the short time they walked around headquarters, he taught Kurt how to see from new perspectives, how to not reject things outright without critical thought. He made Kurt want to be Kal rather than the ghost of his real name he was born with 18 years ago.

Kurt learned that Ben was orphaned by parents who didn’t want him. He bounced around foster homes until he came of age and decided to join the cause. Kurt was struck by how well-rounded he was with such a troubled upbringing.

They couldn’t stop talking. They couldn’t stop staring. They couldn’t stop touching. 

After what felt like sharing a lifetime of experiences and inner-thoughts, easier than it had been for Kurt in his entire life with basically a perfect stranger, they made their way into the hall to listen to his father’s opening speech of the recruitment ceremony. 

They sat close on uncomfortable chairs near the front. Electricity was flowing through them, their arm hairs on edge as they brushed with each adjusting position. Kurt breathed easily and listened to Ben doing the same, picking up on the subtle scent of his sweet breath and fruity hair gel.

Burt took the stage and Kurt heard Ben inhale sharply in awe, sitting more straight in his chair. Kurt’s body thrummed with the need to hold him closer until they were just one person, but he managed to contain the urge, mostly because he didn’t understand it.

“We were not put on this planet for the purpose of another.”

Kurt looked over and saw Ben’s eyes shining with pure delight at Burt’s opening words, resounding and powerful. The room was silent and respectful.

“We were put on this planet for ourselves. We are allowed to be selfish in this one short life we are given. We are not to take anything for granted.”

Even though Kurt has heard this speech hundreds of times over, it never failed to captivate him. This was the root of it all. The root of everything this was started with a small idea a man told his son years ago that had sparked a movement that others found worthy of joining. There was some point in each of these individuals lives where they felt the same exact way.

They knew the truth of Burt’s words just as much as Kurt did. 

“What we do here is not an act of rebellion, it’s an act of integrity. Nothing is more important than that.”

Ben took Kurt’s hand suddenly, and he nearly fell off his chair.

“We should believe in our own self-worth over another,” Burt continued, his speech coming from a place that Kurt will never be lucky enough to understand. “We should believe that something given to us involuntarily by no means of explanation shouldn’t conduct the way we live our lives. It should be supplemental at very best.”

There were murmurs of assent amongst the crowd, and it swelled Kurt’s heart.

“There was a time long ago that the blank wrist we were born with stayed that way for the duration of one’s life,” Burt explained, his voice throaty and meaningful. “People discovered love, orientation, and lifetime mates on their own without being told beforehand. It is presumptuous to think that some higher power bestowed this gift upon us to make our short lives easier. It has only made the world more complicated.”

Kurt nodded, squeezing Ben’s hand, and the returned feeling sent jolts of thrill to his heart. Complicated, that’s for sure.

“-blank wristers, our brethren when exiled from the rest of the world, we take them in and tell them the world has grown weary. I believe in love friends, so much so that I give you these words of wisdom. I believe in love, but with pace and progress because ultimately that is truth.”

Burt concluded and the entire room erupted in ear-splitting cheers and applause. Letting go of Ben’s hand made Kurt’s wrist hurt, but he clapped harder to mask the feeling.

He then turned to Ben and saw him wipe a tear from his crinkled, happy eye. This was new promise, it gave Kurt great inspiration, reaffirming everything he believed in. Then like a petulant child, his wrist tingled again. Kurt jostled his wrist cuff to scratch it away.

“Now my son shall give a few words regarding rules and regulations.”

Kurt heard his name through the microphone and jumped a bit. It was like he forgot where he was when concentrated on Ben’s beautiful face. He really needed to pull himself together, especially today of all days.

“My son, Kal, everybody,” Burt announced, and the audience gave Kurt a generous welcome to the podium as he made his way up. Burt hugged his son and the crowd sighed happily.

Kurt took a deep breath. This was all routine. The words were memorized and imprinted time and again that gave Kurt no fear of public speaking any longer. 

“Thank you father for offering your words to us. Welcome to those who first join us-“

Kurt’s eyes met Ben’s in the crowd, and he only faltered for a microsecond.

“And welcome back to those who have been with us.”

Kurt cleared his throat again. “As expected, it is forbidden to speak of the name on your wrist with another. If you do so, we assume you do not wish to be here and you may take off your cuff and leave us for other pursuits. The cuff is there for a reason, as a representation of what we all stand for. However, if you do wish to divulge your true name, it is completely up to your discretion. Adopting an alias may not be easy, but it is advisable. Please keep these thoughts in mind, and remember, we’re on a first name basis here.”

He received hearty applause, and couldn’t help but smile, the burning in his cheeks more excitement than anything else. He twisted the cuff around his wrist again, swallowing excess saliva in his mouth.

“Now we feast.”

Kurt made his way through the crowd, trying to not look too distressed when he couldn’t find Ben right away. Just as he started to have a mini panic attack, which he didn’t understand at all someone’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, pain flaring more searing and potent. Kurt bit his lip to hide his expression.

“Hey,” Ben greeted breathlessly, squeezing between an obese couple looking around with dazed eyes. “Wanna eat with me?”

Ben’s smile was so cute Kurt felt like he was going to melt down into his shoes, but he merely nodded, leading the way as Ben pressed into his wrist to not lose him through the masses.

Later at dinner, between mouthfuls, Kurt started to suspect that Ben was even more trouble than he let on.

He had asked, “Burt… is that really your father’s true name?”

Kurt still couldn’t help but smile at Ben’s curiosity despite the warning bells going off in his brain. He decided to be ballsy.

“It is,” Kurt affirmed.

Ben chewed thoughtfully, contemplating. Kurt admired the delicate way he feasted. 

“So I could probably find his last name somewhere online couldn’t I? By consequence, yours too.”

Ben quirked an eyebrow, and Kurt frowned. “Impossible.”

“How so?”

Kurt swallowed. “My father shed his last name so long ago, before he was anybody. You’d have more luck finding the name on his wrist-“

Kurt halted, regretting what he had said right away. Around Ben, he seemed to have a loose mouth and a muddled brain because that was something he would have never discussed so easily in the past. 

He thought of his father’s wrist cuff, similar to Kurt’s in design but worn with age. It had character. Burt bore a tan line so stark that the skin underneath probably was raw, just like the forbidden name.

“Was it your mother?” Ben asked in hushed tones, venturing to dangerous territory.

He really knew how to strike a nerve, didn’t he? Kurt wanted to tell Ben that he didn’t even know the answer to that question, his father never once told him. Kurt never asked, it wasn’t his business. 

“We aren’t supposed to be talking about this,” Kurt hissed, feeling wounded and vulnerable under Ben’s empathetic gaze.

Their conversation dulled to uncomfortable silence until one of Kurt’s lifelong friends, Rachel (known to the rest of the world as ‘Raven’) came and sat with them, discussing the details of Burt’s next television appearance. 

It was a nice distraction since the dull burn in Kurt’s wrist turned to scorching until sundown, when it finally settled and went away.

That night, Kurt dreamt of Ben for the first time.


	4. Famous Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter there will be the introduction to Burt's POV in the form of flashbacks.

_“Come with me,” Burt pleaded his lover, his voice strained and broken. He sounded like a dying man._

_“I can’t,” she replied somberly. “You know I can’t.”_

_She had a carefree look about her, beads and bangles hanging from her hair, framing stunning eyes that looked ever-changing between blue and green. However, they looked sad on this day._

_Her outfit was wistful, like a gust of wind could blow her away and make her disappear forever. Nobody knew that more than Burt Hummel._

_“You aren’t making any rational sense, this has to mean something,” he insisted. He was a man verging on hysteria as he pointed insistently to his left wrist. The woman took it and pressed her lips to the skin gently. She lingered there, absorbing the moment._

_She didn’t say anything else._

_“You are the only one for me,” Burt continued shakily, unshed tears shining his eyes. “My body tells me this in every way.”_

_The woman traced the curves of her own name against his skin repeatedly, trying not to cry. She really did love this man, with all her heart. But she had her reasons._

_“I can’t be tied down honey, to anybody,” she finally whispered. “I have to do this, I have to go, so you can let me go.”_

_She attempted to pull away, but Burt kept her there, his grip forceful. Tears were beginning to fall from his gentle brown eyes._

_“You can’t say that!” Burt cried out. “You can’t speak for me too!”_

_She gave into him, turning into his hold. She shook free her own left wrist, pulling up the sleeve. There was a small navy blue handkerchief tied there, which she began to pull loose. She bore her naked wrist for her lover to see._

_“There is nothing there,” she says quietly, her voice more enchanting than anything else ever heard. “That means I’m free.”_

_“From what?” Burt asked, his voice shaking. He wondered,_ from me? __

_“From this curse,” she responded immediately; sincerely, cupping his face and wiped away his tears. He then took her hand and smoothed his thumb over the tendons of her blank wrist, curling around the thin bones._

_“God didn’t want the soulmate anchor for me, so that’s why I must leave you.”_

_Burt bowed his head and forsake God for not making his wrist blank as well. She was right, he was the one cursed. They all were, except for her. The heartbreak he was experiencing now was far worse than anything else he could have possibly imagined. Nobody was safe from it._

_He cried harder, and she kissed his forehead._

_“It’s only a name, Burt,” she whispered softly._

_“It’s_ your _name,” he protested, hiding his head, ashamed of his weakness but no will left to secure his pride._

_“I know,” she acknowledged weakly. “I know.”_

_She had nothing else to say, and he clung to her until he fell asleep, dreading the moment he’d wake knowing that she’d be gone._

***

“Dad?” Kurt asked, his voice sounding far away. “Dad, you alright?”

Burt shook his head, the shadows of his past leaving as quickly as they came. He forced a smile at his bright-eyed son, picking up his fork to resume his cooled meal.

Dinnertime in the Hummel household was usually quiet, yet comfortable. The two of them were often too exhausted to do anything else but just sit there and reminisce on the day’s activities, and since they were together advocating all the time, they had nothing new to tell.

Kurt loved it. He loved how he didn’t have the social obligation to his father to keep talking, to make sure he was paying attention. To make sure he cared. Kurt already knew all of these things, and it was just nice to let the silence soothe over their aching bodies and minds.

Tonight, however, Burt looked more tired than normal. Maybe even a little bit sad. Kurt wanted to break their unspoken agreement and ask what was bothering him, but he decided against it.

Kurt already had troubles of his own.

 _Ben_.

Ben and his stupid face. Ben and his stupid smile. Ben and his stupid eyes and everything. Kurt absolutely loathed the dashing little shit.

No.. it was so much worse than that. 

Kurt had never in his life fallen so hard and so fast for someone. Ben was invading Kurt’s dreams. He started to creep into every thought. He found himself attempting to memorize every word Ben said, the lines of his face. The way his voice sounded when he talked to others. The way he looked at Kurt. Everything was BenBenBenBen _Ben_ and it never, ever stopped. 

It was exhilarating. It was frightening. It was _pathetic_. 

It made Kurt watch Ben not only full of infatuation, but quite warily. He was simultaneously danger to everything Kurt held dear, as well.

Curiosities and desires and unanswered questions made Kurt want to take a day off from it all and go on a secret trip to the library or somewhere he could go to research what was happening to him.

Because he had - an _inkling_..

But the second his mind went there, it was like a switch shut everything down. He couldn’t go further than that. He knew it was scary. Dangerous, even. This mental blockade was his savior, and Kurt didn’t fight it.

So he just let things happen like he always did in his life.

The problem was, they almost spent just as much time together as Kurt did his own father. Burt _adored_ Ben. It was maddening. Ben was a star pupil and Burt often wanted to mentor him personally. He was a step closer to being allowed access to their home.

Kurt knew it was a terrible idea.

Especially because at night Kurt didn’t have the mental blockade built up so well so his subconscious had free reign.

***

Kurt was walking in a place where he felt comfortable. The air was warm, near daybreak. The promise of a new day full of new challenges and opportunities.

There was gust below his feet, but no wind to be felt in the air. He already knew where he was going.

Kurt saw him then, such a dazzling smile. Kurt hurried his pace, swift on his toes and squinting at the bright light.

Ben was there, offering a hand. He was wearing all white, his hair was so dark.

“ _Kurt_ ,” he said, and the word reverberated all around them. The sound of his name so _intimate_. It made Kurt’s spine shiver and stomach curl in a way he knew he needed to hear it more.

It was Kurt, and that’s all it was. No barriers, no lies, no evaded questions.

They could just _be_ , and Kurt knew this.

He took Ben’s hand, and received a small shock, realizing that neither of them were wearing their wrist cuffs. Kurt wasn’t wearing much at all, actually. His clothes flowed loosely around him, white to match Ben's.

Ben kissed him then, and it was _everything_.

“Kurt,” he said again, murmuring against his lips like a promise.

They were finally together. They were finally whole.

But...

“What is it?” Ben asked, concern crossing his features. Clouds covered the sun. It broke Kurt’s heart, but he had to address it.

“Blaine.” It sounded like a dark confession, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. He was sure he had never said the name out-loud before.

Ben frowned, confused. “Blaine? Who’s Blaine?” 

Kurt blinked and the scenery was darker, was it really that late already?

“My soulmate,” he replied, instantly feeling like a fool. 

To Kurt’s immense surprise, Ben laughed. His eyes crinkled and sunshine was bright again. Kurt shielded his eyes and for a second let his gaze flicker to his wrist-

 _Ben Avery_.

Scripted, curvy letters stained into his wrist like that had always been.

Kurt realized Blaine Anderson was no more. 

***

Kurt woke with a yelp in sweat-soaked sheets, his heart hammering in his chest as he gasped for breath.

He blinked into the darkness, unable to see anything but the outline of his dark blinds. His mind attempted to grasp on the last vestiges of what he was dreaming, but all was left was one single thought.

Ben meant something much more than just a new recruit, and he had to find out exactly what.

So Kurt told his father the next morning he needed a vacation day.


	5. The One

The first thing Kurt did once he was at least 20 miles from home, away from his fathers prying eyes and questioning stare, he pulled over on the side of the road and unclasped his wrist cuff for the first time in 6 years.

Kurt was shaking. He felt sick and anxious. He felt like his father was watching him, judging him; _disappointed in him_. But once the moment his eyes to feasted upon the unchanged name branded to him, _Blaine Anderson_ grounded him.

Everything was the same... normal, even. Right?

Ease as well as disappointment washed over Kurt as he secured the cuff in its rightful place, stretching his fingers and cracking his knuckles for good measure.

He blatantly ignored the fact that he was so very wrong. He _wanted_ his wrist to claim the name Ben Avery. And he hated that desire so much. More so than the feeling he got from seeing his wrist free again.

Everything has changed. He wouldn’t be taking a trip of out town for the first time in years for a reason other than advocacy if that were the case. Kurt had always been a champion in ignoring his problems. This was no exception.

Regardless, the drive swift, nothing but a blur. Once he reached the outskirts of the busiest town over, he couldn’t remember a thing of it. He pulled over to a curb, realizing he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Where was he supposed to go?

As son of Burt, he was bound to be recognized. Kurt rarely went out in public on his own except in the late hours for funny business. Finding strangers to fuck in bars wasn’t really an issue for him since they were usually a part of his community, often blank-wristers since they were the most adventurous and loose.

Disturbingly though, Kurt had run into his fair share of those who surgically removed the name from their wrist, usually covering their unsightly scar until clothes were removed in the heat of drunken passion. Apparently whatever mystical "ink" of sorts ran into the deepest dermal layer that even tattoos would not.

These sorts of things made Kurt feel uncomfortable, but this was the reality of the fish bowl he lived in. Now he was in the outside world. Did they, the laymen worry about the agony of faded grey names of a deceased soulmates as much as paying the bills? He felt so different than them.

On some level Kurt could sympathize, but the shame of being found on this little venture could be his downfall. Even more so, than Ben Avery.

Just as Kurt thought of him, he met his gaze with a swooping purple sign above a hole-in-the-wall boutique entitled ‘The One.’ It looked the right amount of privately owned and flim-flam that Kurt had the feeling he struck gold. Or at least it looked like a good place to start.

After getting frustrated with his abysmal parallel parking skills on an overly crowded street, Kurt was cautiously walking through the door, a bell chiming eerily. He had pulled up his hood up and lowered his head out of mortification, not quite meeting the eyes of the curvy woman running the shop.

She was dressed in a dark robe and shawls, many jewels on her fingers and clanging bracelets lining her wrists. She jingled with each step. It took all Kurt had in him to not snort haughtily at her. He couldn’t help but privately criticize her for wasting her time. But then again, he was here wasn’t he?

“Hello there young man, how may I assist you today?” Her voice was pleasant and gentle, like a stream over smooth rocks. She sat on a plush chair and waited, fingers laced as she observed him.

“I-” Kurt wasn’t really sure exactly what he wanted, further increasing his humiliation. “I should go, this was a mistake-“

“NO WAIT!” The woman yelled suddenly, jolting Kurt backward in surprise. “Just... wait. I know what you need.”

Kurt hesitated, his body angled toward the door, but his feet still pointed toward the woman. There was something going on inside him, all intuition and instinct that was sending off warning bells, but not the type he was expecting. Something was different about it. In some strange way, he felt like he could trust her.

“Come here,” she said calmly after a beat, offering her hands. Kurt took a deep breath, taking a halting step toward her.

“Give me your left,” she asked kindly as Kurt approached. He did as told.

She was quiet as she ran her hands over his bound cuff, her caress soft and soothing, like each brush relieved some of the anxiety tightening a hold in his chest.

Kurt cherished the woman’s touch, a touch that he never but rarely received. It was nice. Calming. It let him leave his head for a moment or two. However, his innate cynicism caught up to him. It creeped into his heart and it turned black.

“So are you a psychic or what?” Kurt asked skeptically, his laugh like a small bark.

“No, honey,” she berated affectionately. That was all she said. Kurt had expected more, but now he felt like an ass. He wanted to at least apologize or something, but all he could do was fall silent, letting her do whatever she pleased. Whatever it was.

“May I?” she wondered, hesitating her polished fingers over the leather strap of his cuff. Kurt nodded, nerves flooding his stomach immediately. She was very respectful about it all, despite the fact that her usual clientele probably never sported the cover.

“Ahhh,” she sighed the moment Blaine Anderson’s name was revealed. It was jarring, seeing it twice in one day after so long of ignorance and resentment. She brushed the tips of her fingers gently over the etched letters. “Now what’s your name?”

She had asked, but Kurt took a while to reply. He got lost in the little black name, sucking him in, making everything else white noise. He traced each curve and line with his wide eyes like he couldn’t get enough; hungry to remember, ravenous to savor. The flickering candles gave him a whole new perspective of his raw wrist. He had momentarily forgotten the woman was there.

He blinked his foggy vision away, time registering in his brain. He then swallowed thickly. “My name is Ka-K- _Kurt_ ,” he said, his heart dropping at his honesty.

Yet, he cleared his throat and repeated firmly, “Kurt.”

Saying his true name out-loud felt like a weight off his shoulders, allowing him to breathe freer. But he couldn’t help but feel like he was breathing his last ones. Was it worth it?

The woman looked euphoric when he finally had the courage to meet her thoughtful gaze. Kurt bit his lip, anxious.

“What a lovely pair, Kurt and Blaine,” the woman cooed, her smile prominent and relaxed, gliding her knuckles across Kurt’s wrist. He shivered violently. “It has a ring doesn’t it?”

“I-I guess,” Kurt stammered. “I suppose it’s a matter of opinion. What exactly are you doing?”

She hummed softly, the curve of her nail tracing the letters, causing them to latently sting a bit. “I’m telling you what you need to know,” the woman responded matter-of-factly. She paused with bated breath. “He is near.”

 _Near? Near where? Near here?_ Kurt wanted to scream at her, shake her even, but he waited. She took a meaningful intake of breath. “The one you are looking for, you might have already met. Has your wrist been burning periodically?”

Kurt nodded slowly, wanting to be convinced she knew what she was talking about, but at the same time the doubt and the discomfort threatened to consume him. “Yes...” she trailed off mysteriously, her lip quivering a bit. What was it.. worry? Kurt couldn’t tell.

“Yes, all the signs are there," she affirmed confidently. "What you’ve been worried about may be true and what you seek, you already know.” 

Kurt’s stomach fell, his mouth opening to question her further, but suddenly she stood abruptly, dropping his wrist and looked quickly over her shoulder. She handed Kurt back his cuff, rather forcefully.

“What’s going o-“

“You must go,” she said urgently, pushing him to the door with a surprising amount of strength. “They’re coming.”

“Who?” Kurt’s heart started hammering, feeling the walls closing in. “Wh-“

“Kurt,” she begged. “Please.”

Kurt met her eyes for the first and last time, struck by their beauty before they were gone.


	6. Unexpected Visitor

_The pounding on the door was frantic and terrifying. Burt sat in his armchair completely frozen, hoping that whoever it was, they would eventually give up. But there was a deep, underlying yearning that he didn't understand to rush to his door and rip it of it hinges._

_Burt was a recluse, who could possibly have any interest in seeing him, especially in this late hour? Regardless, he eventually answered the door despite the chills in his spine._

_Secretly starved for human connection, too scared to contact the outside world himself, Burt had no choice. He should have expected the worst, he really should have. He had always been criticized for his naivety. Seeing the love of his life after a year of her disappearance was no exception._

_“Burt,” she gasped, short of breath._

_It was raining profusely, her hair plastered to her head. Burt missed the bundle of life clutched desperately in her arms, so utterly shocked to his bones that she was there. He was sure he would never see her again._

_“Felicia I-” It actually hurt to say her name._

_“I don’t have time,” she interrupted, whipping her hair back, but it was no use. She looked like a drowned dog. Her cheeks were hollow, but her breasts swollen with glistening droplets. She blinked at him, her eyes stark in the night._

_Despite it all, she looked more beautiful than ever. Burt was torn between slamming the door in her face to hide away and pulling her in for a kiss until she couldn’t breathe._

_“What’s wrong?” Burt asked, pushing all his desires away. He couldn’t help but feel severe anxiety emanating off of her. No matter how much she was right (or wrong) and how much she had ruined him, every fiber of his being wanted to protect her; keep her warm and safe. Keep her happy, even if he couldn’t. He would die trying._

_“They are coming,” she said hauntingly, seemingly unable to swallow her fear. “You need to take Kurt. Please.”_

_“Kurt?” Burt floundered, his chest tight and eyes watery. “Who-”_

_She carefully placed the warm bundle of blankets into his arms. Burt looked down and saw a baby, round-faced and cheeks tear-streaked. His eyes were her eyes._

_“Is he-?”_

_“Your son,” Felicia told him. “Our beautiful son.”_

_Kurt, no older than a couple months old blinked up at Burt as if they already knew each other. Felicia bent down to kiss his forehead, tears stinging her eyes._

_“We’ll meet again someday,” she whispered against his soft skin. She knew it was going to be even harder to go this time. “Goodbye, Kurt.”_

_Burt was then stricken with panic. A fear so palpable of losing her for the second time threatening to consume what was left of his sanity. “No, NO! You can’t leave again! Not like this! We have a baby!”_

_Felicia leaned up and kissed Burt fiercely, pressing her lips tight so she couldn’t sob._

_“I’m so sorry,” she choked. “I wish I could be everything you want me to be.”_

_Burt closed his eyes, shaking, kissing her back; holding his baby close. He felt more helpless than he ever did in his entire life. He counted to 10 in his head, knowing she was gone again the moment their lips broke, but something was different this time. He felt the realization crawl on his neck. Were “they” coming for him too?_

_As if on cue, his wrist erupted in agonizing pain that radiated out to the rest of the body. It took everything in him not to drop the small child. He staggered inside, keeping Kurt close, hoping and praying the pain would go away. It wouldn’t. It only got worse, especially when he slammed the door shut and locked it tight._

_He cried out in hysterical sobs, and his son cried with him. Why didn’t the pain stop?_

_Burt then bit into handkerchief tied around his wrist and pulled it free, so sure that the letters seared into his flesh would be on fire. But the reality was so much worse._

_Faded grey. Gone. She was gone._

***

Kurt stood outside the shop, bracing himself for something to happen.

He staggered back a few steps, throwing hurried glances over his shoulder, and checked to make sure his keys and wallet were still in his pocket.

Kurt expected the SWAT team so swarm in and arrest the loopy woman for some obscure reason. Kurt expected a parade of his father’s followers with pitchforks and angry yells demanding to exile him from the movement. Kurt waited for anything out of the ordinary to clue him into what was happening but-

Whoever _they_ were, they never came.

***

Kurt drove back home absolutely incensed with rage. He saw red; a blind fury he hadn’t experienced for as long as he could remember. He had never in his life felt so slighted, so _fooled_.

Did this woman and people like her think it was okay to take advantage of the vulnerable and fill their heads with nonsense? It was downright cruel, _immoral_.

And for at least half a minute Kurt actually believed her. He took her seriously and that was the worst part of it. He actually fell for her bullshit because he had let his guard down and allowed soulmate mumbo-jumbo cloud his judgement. Well no longer!

This was exactly what his father was always talking about! And Kurt fell prey to it like some - like some fucking _commoner_. 

Kurt slammed his foot on the gas, breaking all conceivable speed limits, hoping his anger would lessen. He hastily fastened his wrist cuff once more, nearly too tight, but he couldn’t bear looking at at that stupid fucking name anymore. He had nearly crashed in his distraction. Kurt was surprised he wasn’t pulled over, but also thankful because he’d probably have his cheek pressed up against the hood of his own car in no time, wrists in cuffs because he would have not been able to control himself.

He then surprised himself further, bypassing the route back to his place, back to his father who’d ask too many questions about his state, about his anger, about his absolutely pointless venture and found himself pulling up Ben’s street. He had only been there once before after a meeting.

Ben’s loft looked different in the daylight. The last time they were here they had taken a walk and discussed more personal philosophies, their hands brushing but never twining. Their goodbye hug prolonged and filled with intent, their faces inclined toward each other but no kiss.

Kurt immediately felt the unease leave his body. Kurt could see Ben’s curious face in the window as Kurt rocketed up the driveway, halting hastily into park and jumping from his car as if he couldn’t get out fast enough.

Ben already had the door open and foot out onto the front step as Kurt hurtled toward him; the closer he got the better he felt. He was acting on pure instinct and emotion now. No thought whatsoever. Otherwise he’d never have been so ballsy.

“Kal, what’s going on, are you alrigh- _OHM_ ”

Kurt launched himself into Ben’s arms, nearly toppling him over, nose pressed to his temple, breathing him in. Kurt wanted to break down and sob until he couldn’t function but now that he felt whole in those comforting arms, he no longer felt the need.

“Kal?”

Kurt pulled away and looked into Ben’s shining hazel orbs, wishing that they didn’t have barriers between them; barriers of aliases and wrist cuffs. Barriers of words unsaid and the underlying truth. Kurt wanted to be real with him, in the best most honest way how. But there was only one thing left to do.

“Ben, kiss me.”

Kurt sounded urgent, like he’d might die without it.

Ben only opened and closed his mouth a few times before Kurt decided to close the distance for them. He couldn’t wait any longer. He could almost feel the seconds tick by and each one of them was wasted without them being connected in some way.

And Ben didn’t protest as he kicked the door back, pulling Kurt inside with him.


	7. Sublime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: light smut in this chapter

__

**‘The mysteries revealed in conjunction with the true soulmate are unlimited.’**

_-Anonymous_

Kurt stared at the framed woven quote all night in Ben’s arms. He couldn’t sleep, but every part of him was exhausted. He was sore everywhere, and for good reason. An ache so deep that it soaked into the fibers of his being. He was supposed to be content, here in Ben's bed. The presence of pure Ben all around him; but the eminent feeling of disaster was still at bay.

Why would Ben have something like that hanging on his wall? It made no sense.

Kurt’s mind wandered, working over every detail as Ben breathed evenly in his ear, snoring so soft it was barely there. Their legs were tangled comfortably under a soft blanket; serene and relaxed in their own world. Kurt nuzzled his nose into the fabric, hoping slumber would take him soon.

Was it even possible to fall in love so quickly? Kurt felt it deep in his bones, whatever it was. He wanted to memorize each moment over again until they were forever imprinted in his brain.

Kurt started at the beginning, his lashes fluttering shut.

***

“I know your father wouldn’t approve but-“

More kisses. Kurt deepens it, his hold sure on Ben’s head to make him shut up, but to no avail. Ben held him too, his expression fiercely passionate.

“I-I’m glad you came.”

The two boys stumbled their way up to Ben’s room, though Kurt couldn’t be too sure since it was all happening so fast. Ben kept saying things to him, murmuring, accentuated with each peck and nip against flesh continually exposed.Their skin was feverish with anticipation. Clothes catching, eliciting growls of frustration until at long last they molded together. Skin to skin.

Kurt found himself with his fingers lubed and Ben bowed under him, stunning and glistening with beading sweat, ass spread open wide in anticipation of first initial, glorious penetration. Kurt took his time with Ben, making sure he didn't miss a single thing. Letting the moment build and build until neither of them could take it anymore.

Kurt let out all his energy in fucking Ben roughly and passionately once the time came. His grip was forceful against Ben’s narrow waist, the smack of his bony hips against Ben’s fleshy ass was _electrifying_. The buzz of Kurt's phone was left unnoticed through all the noise.

Ben was a perfect, begging mess. He took Kurt’s cock like they were molded for each other. Kurt could lean down and slot their bodies as if they were yin and yang. When Kurt slowed to allow himself to feel _everything_ , he could tell there was a semblance of making love.

Much later, deep into the night, Kurt found himself straddled a-top Ben’s thighs, kissing him passionately and thoroughly. Their lips slid experimentally. They tasted each other; sucked each other, felt each other.

All around Kurt was the scent of Ben. The scent of his pleasure, the scent of his beautiful body, the scent of his come. The scent of leftover shampoo and deodorant soaking into the sheets, and Kurt couldn’t get enough. He wasn't sure if he ever could.

Most memorable of all was Kurt riding Ben’s cock for what felt like hours.

They had clutched each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes. Kurt felt something stir within him like nothing before. Ben would cup his cheek, stroke his hair, blink slowly as if a man already deeply in love.

Kurt spent the rest of their night closing his eyes so he couldn’t see all that. His heart remained in his throat no matter how much he cried out in pleasure. No matter how many times he came. No matter how bad his thighs burned.

Because he could never forget Ben’s whimpery, whining voice as he rubbed Kurt’s clenching, aching asshole as he rocked up and down.

“Please keep fucking me, you are so _good_. You feel so perfect with me.”

He said it like he knew Kurt was leaving him. Like he would die if this didn’t last longer; longer than forever.

Kurt understood completely, but never made any mention of it. He felt like if he said anything, the fantasy would shatter all around him.

So he fucked Ben until he could no longer think.

***

The next morning, they went at it again. Ben bit Kurt’s neck as he thrust into Kurt’s asshole in one go, fucking him quick and sharp from behind. Their fingers twined in the sheets, turning white from exertion, but Kurt barely noticed.

Later, Ben spread himself out on his back and pleaded for Kurt to fuck him face-to-face so they could kiss the whole time. They whispered a contrast of sweet, dirty nothings into each other's gasping, open mouths as they moved with each other. Synchronized, slick and endlessly satisfying. 

It was nothing like Kurt ever imagined. It blew all else out of the water, and nobody in the world existed but Ben. Kurt couldn't even remember what anyone else was like before, because it didn't matter. Nothing else in the entire universe did.

Kurt never thought once he would ever be lucky enough to experience _this_. This was something else entirely. _This_ was the reason people wrote millions of love songs and poems. This was _it_ and Kurt knew it more than anything he ever knew in his entire life prior.

That concept alone was _powerful_ , and endlessly terrifying.

When they finally fully woke, they both reveled in the stretch of their aching muscles and smiled effortlessly, eager to wash themselves clean. And most likely, make love again.

That was until Ben _ruined_ it.

“W-what... what are you doing?” Kurt asked suddenly; forcefully. Everything warm inside him turned bitingly cold.

Ben paused getting out of bed, fiddling with his wrist cuff, looking slightly startled. Kurt didn’t understand it, he seemed so casual about it, undoing the clasps despite the fact it was utterly forbidden.

“You can’t-“

“Relax,” Ben assured him, the cuff now falling limply around his wrist. Kurt choked. “You don’t have to look, you could even turn away if you wanted to. I just always take it off before I shower because the water will ruin the material design.”

Ben scoffed like Kurt was being ridiculous. Maybe he was. What he he really was, however, was bordering on a severe panic attack, bubbling on the surface. _He's breaking the rules!_

He quickly considered his options. On one hand, if Kurt took a little peek, he’d finally know. Going down the path of knowing always carried more weight and significance than the path of blissful ignorance.

On the other hand, he’d be completely and totally devastated if the name _wasn’t_ his, even more devastated too, if it actually was. There was no winning for Kurt. He would lose, and there was no happy ending for him either way. He wasn't ready.

"Ben - _please_ put it back on!"

However, Ben only gave Kurt less than 5 seconds to prepare for something so earth-shattering because in a blink it was off, placed carefully on the night stand. Ben kept his wrist down-turned, but the visual of a bare left wrist with no means of protection from prying eyes made Kurt feel like he was falling down stairs. Very tall, narrow, metal-grated stairs.

Kurt shut his eyes tight.

He could hear Ben breathing and moving toward him. The subtle brush of his naked thighs. Ben then framed Kurt’s face with his warm palms, breath puffing sweetly over his face. Kurt’s heart went a-flutter, but he had to keep his eyes closed, no matter what.

“Kal, why are you shaking?”

Kurt pressed his lips tightly together, refusing to answer. He knew why, but he didn't listen. Ben thumbed over his cheek, his voice softer now.

“What’s the worst that will happen?” Ben reasoned gently. “You know I don’t care about that name. It’s merely a blemish as far as I’m concerned. You are the only one I see.”

Kurt tried to control himself, he really did, but broken sobs made him gasp; he felt tears leaking traitorously out from under his iron-clad lids.

He wasn’t sure if he was crying more for himself or Ben, because Ben wasn’t even close to understanding the magnitude of the situation. He was just so _clueless_ ; he had no idea…

“Come take a shower with me,” he then whispered against Kurt’s lips, causing him to shiver all the way down to the soles of his feet. “Let’s wash the rest of the world away.”

The prospect was temping of course, more than that; it sounded _sublime_.

But Kurt knew better.

He knew the moment his eyes opened he’d greedily seek out the name, unable to stop himself. It was like he could feel a magnetic pull from Ben’s left wrist, and his eyes would have no choice but to submit to the gravitation.

“Please Kal, look at me,” Ben begged, now sounding a little on edge. His concern was the only reason Kurt cracked open his lids, guilt immediately washing over him as he witnessed the worried lines creased all over Ben’s features.

“Okay,” Kurt managed, opening his eyes more, hand reaching up to twine with Ben’s, holding it sturdy and away at his side. “Lead the way, but I’m keeping mine on.”

Ben chuckled a little, nodding his head in understanding. He then pushed open his bathroom door, Kurt amazed by the ornate, yet cozy design.

Kurt admired the raised marble step to the all-glass shower facing the mirror. He then felt heat surge in his gut, almost giving him a sense of whip-lash in his desire.

“I want to fuck you against the shower door, watching you take it,” Kurt said in a low, growly voice, forgetting himself.

Ben grinned, free hand reaching down to rub himself, obviously taking a liking to the idea. He leaned in and kissed Kurt briefly, _filthily_ ; so much raw intent that had them both panting.

“Let me go heat the water up,” Ben offered lightly, un-twining his fingers from Kurt’s to open the door to reach for the faucet, not realizing it was the biggest mistake of his life.

Something _other_ , something bigger than Kurt forced him to look down in that moment, almost as if in slow motion, down past the raging hard on waiting for him, beyond the canvas of glistening golden skin, watching the tendons of Ben’s marked wrist turning the knob-

Kurt _saw_ , but everything inside him froze, all the chaos in the world at a standstill while everything came to him, grounding him in that moment.

He felt like he was on the precipice of the end of his life.

Steam was all around. Ben’s voice was echoing and carrying, but falling upon deaf ears, because of two little words.

 _Kurt Hummel_.


	8. Spider

_When Burt Hummel would dream, it would only be of her._

_Sometimes of the small spider tattoo on her hip. A place his fingers would brush over and over. Loving and cherished; down the curve of her spine to the dimples of her hips._

_No man in the world could love her as much as Burt did. That was a fact._

_That was until he woke to a crying infant son, knowing that he would never have a mother be there for him when he needed her most; past, present or future._

***

It was like a bomb went off in Kurt’s head. The white noise was incredible. 

Pouding, loud, ringing... _shaking_. He felt like his eardrums were bleeding.

Ben, no - _Blaine_ \- was talking, but it was far away; like spoken into a deep glass jar wrapped tightly around his lips; it was completely indecipherable. 

Then there was a flaring, acute pain in his wrist, but he barely registered it on a conscious level. Kurt could have had glass shards in his arm and have not paid any attention or mind, because nothing else mattered.

Everything clicked together like notches in a repaired watch, moving and simultaneous. It all made sense with perfect clarity. The signs were always there, Kurt knew all along, he just refused to acknowledge it.

For good reason too. Everything he believed was now at stake. His entire relationship with his father was now in jeopardy. Kurt’s entire future was now being called into question.

But he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

He was Kurt Hummel. Ben Avery was actually Blaine Anderson. They had each other’s names branded to each other’s wrists.

It was irrefutable. Un-fallible. Fact without question.

They were each other’s true soulmate.

For so long, no... for his entire _life_ the name was nothing more than something that resembled a fable.

It had been a fantasy. An untold story with so much doubt for a happy ending. It was something completely unobtainable to the point where Kurt would never even try to entertain the thought.

The idea of meeting Blaine at some point was utterly ludicrous; unfathomable. 

Yet - here he was.

This was happening to him. Kurt was actually standing in the same room as his soulmate.

His _soulmate_.

The circumstances couldn’t have possibly been more unfortunate in his favor.

This realization made the ringing in his ears stop, centering him back into the here and now. Kurt felt sick. Kurt was crying.

Those beautiful, heartbreaking eyes of Blaine’s were now focused in Kurt’s view, looking more concerned than ever.

Kurt wanted to throw everything else away, wrap his arms around Blaine’s neck and weep the truth into his ear. He wanted to run away with Blaine, far away, away from it all. Make love every day and have the rest of eternity together.

But that was the dream of a child. A fantasy wish for the fool-hearted.

He looked into the eyes of his soulmate, seeing their happy future vanish. Seeing Blaine now made everything inside Kurt cold. Blaine Anderson was so in the dark, the face of someone Kurt should have never crossed paths with in a million years.

Suddenly, everything was deafening. His tears were dry. 

“Do I need to call a doctor, your father, Ka-?”

Kurt spoke over him. “I need to go now.”

His voice sounded dead. It was all he could manage as he fought the fabric of nature’s true intent. But he had to, he no longer had any other option.

Blaine tripped over his words. His clear disappointment was devastating, almost breaking Kurt’s resolve.

“B-but, but.. we have the whole day, don’t go.”

Blaine reached up to grab Kurt’s shoulder, who flinched like he had been nearly scorched. His eyes flickered down, realization dawning on his face.

“It’s the name isn’t it?” Blaine’s whisper as as soft as dust blowing soundlessly across grass.

Kurt closed his eyes, feeling so, so tired. Things he experienced moments ago seemed foreign, unreachable. He felt like an entirely different person. “I just need to go.”

“Please don’t,” Blaine pleaded, making Kurt cringe. Saying this was painful would be more than an understatement. He couldn’t even begin to describe it.

“What happened - what did I do just, _please_ , tell me-“

Kurt shook his head vigorously, trying not to allow himself to break down completely. He prayed for all of this to go away. To go back in time. Travel to an alternate universe where things didn’t have to be this complicated. 

But prayers, Kurt knew, were never answered.

He was alone.

He couldn’t go to his father, the one constant person in his world. He couldn’t go to anybody.

Kurt wanted to cry out for his mother. Why wasn’t she here? He needed her now more than ever. _Mom_.

“Why are you doing this to me - _to us_?” The agony in Blaine’s voice made Kurt bite into his lip, breaking the skin, tasting blood.

Kurt’s heart shattered. ”I can’t do this, _we_ can’t.”

Blaine started sobbing through his words. “WHY? Just tell me, Kal, _why_ \- You can't.. you _can't_ tell me that you didn't feel something - _real_ \- with me last night. Just - just _don't_ go-”

“We can’t see each other, not like this. It’s not right.”

And with that Kurt turned away, robotically grabbing his things, Blaine's words falling on deaf ears before running as fast as he could out of that house.

***

Burt Hummel had a tattoo that his son had always wondered about.

Kurt had only seen it a few times; the occasional trip to the beach where Kurt had no choice but to stay lathered in sunscreen and under an umbrella so his skin wouldn’t be tarnished by the suns harmful rays.

It could have been the times in Kurt’s youth where he played outside in the sprinkler in the dead of summer and his father would mow the lawn in a wife beater, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.

It could have been a time when Kurt was in tears, finding his father staring resolutely in the hallway mirror, seemingly lost in thought, sleeve rolled up.

But Kurt never really paid much attention before.

It was a spider, runic in a way. It lived just above the muscled roll of Burt’s bicep and often remained hidden.

Kurt assumed that it was something embarrassing he’d rather forget that he did as a teenager, as many tattoos were of that nature.

However, that night Kurt came home, his life in shambles, he decided to look more closely. He was drawn to it.

He could tell was something his father treasured. Kept in private for his own revisiting. It made Kurt recall a fuzzy memory in his childhood asking his father about it;

_“What’s that Daddy? A spider, gross!”_

_“No, son, no. Did you know that in some ancient cultures spiders were believed to weave the strands of fate?”_

Kurt never knew he’d remember something that seemed so insignificant back then that would eventually haunt his future.

 _Ruin it_.

Kurt could only think of that spider every day after he broke Blaine’s heart, knowing this wasn’t going to be the last of his troubles.


	9. Blaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is where we start to see his POV as well :)

Kurt knew Blaine wasn’t going to give up with the way he left things, no chance in hell. But Kurt was just as willful, if not more so.

Of course, he was right, because he now felt he knew Blaine almost as much as he knew himself. They were connected on the deepest more complex levels, whether Kurt liked it or not. He could deny convoluted nature's reasons, but he couldn't deny the truth, and he hoped it would help him persevere through the pain. He grasped onto it, that tiny kernel of hope, but to no avail.

Kurt gave Blaine no explanation, no promise of resolve. He saw Blaine every day at headquarters, but avoided him the best he could. Sent other people to send and retrieve messages in his stead. Kurt could _feel_ Blaine near, but he never got close enough to fully see. Kurt's success, however, only increased his misery. A steady tempo in his wrist reminded him of the dull thudding of his dying heart. But he knew it was for the best of the cause, and for himself. Kurt had been "heartbroken" before, but it wasn't quite like this. Not even close. Instead of time healing, time frayed Kurt. Made him lose part of himself, his sanity, his health. He woke up each morning feeling ill, and went to bed each night feeling even worse. His heart heavier and aching in his chest. Never forgetting the look in Blaine's eyes when he left. It haunted his nightmares, keeping Kurt deprived of proper sleep.

So the night Kurt came home after a really long day, feeling torn and defeated, he really shouldn’t have been surprised to see Blaine sitting alone at his kitchen counter, waiting for him.

***

Blaine had curled up in bed sleeping the day away when Kal left.

Ideally he would have chased after him, forced him to stay, kissed him with great romantic notion, but Blaine was tired of chasing.

He was tired of chasing after people who didn’t want him. People whom he loved but had let him down, not loving him enough in return. People that he needed in his life, but were only set up to abandon him.

Blaine then allowed the world of dreams to soothe his aching heart, too tired and too broken for tears.

He woke with new ambition early the next morning after he had gazed at the little name on his wrist. He wouldn’t allow anybody, especially _Kurt Hummel_ ruin what he could have with Kal.

They had potential. But it was so much more than that. They were _right_.

The moment they met Blaine knew that the pain he experienced during their handshake was a sign. A sign that he doesn’t have to wait for the mystery person he was provided to have a life with. Kal was his end all be all, and even in the short time that they had known each other, Blaine knew that to be true. He knew it with every single cell in his body.

There were some things beyond all reason and logic. All purely intuition, feeling and instinct; that was something to not be taken for granted. It was rare in this world. That was all Blaine knew for sure.

Other than that, Blaine’s new lover was clearly a person that had a difficult time opening up or showing any vulnerability whatsoever. Kal was so frustratingly absent and stubborn it made Blaine want to scream and rip his heart out.

It didn’t take Blaine long to figure out that out about Kal. He was fiercely loyal, that was obvious. He was also a bit closed off, but Blaine didn’t blame him. Though, his dedication to his father and the cause made Blaine’s heart heavy, wishing he could have the same. There were rare moments where they’d quietly express their longing to have a mother, something they could share on an intimate level, but all too quickly Kal would bring them back to the surface level.

On the other hand, it also made Blaine want to tell Kal that parents weren’t always the ones with the answers. Blaine had to learn the hard way, because he never had parents. He had to find out his own answers. He felt it built his character stronger than other people his age.

Blaine was quite sure that Burt was the main reason why Kal left, but the reason exactly was a mystery. Kal’s very being was rooted in all his father’s beliefs, which in like, Blaine could also understand, though not fully comprehend. Kal was so strong, but always so on _edge_ , a stickler for the rules in such a way that Blaine had never experienced in his life.

Blaine just wanted to open himself up completely, baring his wrist as he would intimate skin to show his devotion. It was the next thing short of revealing his true name; which he was sure he would have divulged eventually with the way things were heading. He wished Kal understood, but it was clearly a big mistake. Kal wasn’t ready.

There were times when Kal would briefly show vulnerability. Blaine saw it in his eyes as they had made love, during breathless gasps until everything was shielded by his closing eyes.

Though Blaine didn’t doubt Kal’s feelings for him, too true and pure to doubt, he doubted whether he would ever allow Blaine to see him fully. To take on a new name and deny the norm of society came with its own hardships of covering up who one was.

Blaine spent nights curled up in his fluttering heart and the day’s enchanting memories spent with Kal, considering on whether or not to actually reveal his true name, wishing they didn’t have to keep anything from each other.

But it was clear the moment Kal evaded most of Blaine’s questions the day they met it set up the future of their complicated relationship despite the overwhelming chemistry.

So Blaine had no other choice but to confront Kal directly, in a place he couldn’t slip down some stairs or within a crowd of needy people. He set up a secret appointment with Burt immediately.

***

“What are you doing here,” Kal demanded, his voice sharp and cold. But Blaine knew better.

Kal clearly wasn’t expecting him to be there, his father gave no warning none the less. The moment he registered Blaine’s presence the anguish in his eyes was crushing until quickly masked by the safe, but unstable blockade he built for himself.

Again, Blaine did not comprehend why. It went against almost everything he knew about Kal.

Sure, they had fallen in deep infatuation for each other, but he was by no means a hopeless romantic by his deductions. He’d be like the commoners if that were the case, so his behavior didn’t quite add up.

Kal liked getting what he wanted. Kal liked being in control. Kal was honest about everything he could manage. And most obvious of all, Kal wouldn’t dump someone just because his soulmate’s name didn’t match his own. At least, he never did before in the past. Clearly. Blaine had heard some things - _tales_ , about Kal before they had met.

So why did seeing Blaine’s wrist jar him so? Did he by some miracle know Kurt Hummel? Was he jealous for some odd reason despite Blaine’s reassurances? Or did he live strictly and didn’t like Blaine’s recklessness with what Kal consider sacred law?

Either way, Kal was a lot more troubled than he let on. Also, there was still much they didn’t know about each other, no matter how much they wanted to share.

Blaine wanted to know everything, but in due time. He believed in Burt too, that love took time to nurture. So he had to fix this somehow; get some answers, at least. He wanted some sort of common ground before he went out of his mind.

It so happened that luck was on Blaine’s side in the matter, or the stars were shining in his favor because Burt was more than willing to help him out with anything the moment Blaine strolled into his cluttered office.

He had a big enough heart to understand without Blaine having to say much, which was surprising because he was so sure that Burt would be just as cut off as his son, if not worse with so much else that was going on.

Burt just patted him on the shoulder. “You should come over for dinner tonight and bring my son to his senses. He’s always been terrified of commitment, my Kal... probably because he never had his mom teach him that it was safe to love-“

The man of thousands had trailed off at that point, his eyes filling with a deep sadness so immense and vast that Blaine felt like he was intruding on an extremely private moment, very tempted to leave the room without another word. It was clearer than anything else in Blaine's life in that moment - Burt has _had_ someone, and he knew what it was like.

But a few heartbeats later, Burt snapped out of it. “I can tell my son really cares for you - _and there’s something about you_ \- and I’d do anything to finally make him happy.”

Burt then blinked, his eyes watery, and it made Blaine want to tell Kal that his father loved him more than anything in the world, hoping someday they could find a way to communicate properly with each other without the weight of the world watching them.

***

That night, Blaine and Burt eat together, but Kal never shows.

Burt calls him numerous times and leaves several messages. They heat up the dinner twice before deciding to eat, barely speaking because of their worry and confusion. _This can't be normal_ , Blaine deduced.

“Does he ever tell you where he goes?” Blaine wonders, barely having an appetite.

“I let him do as he pleases,” Burt answers slowly. “But he is usually home for dinner. Something is up with him lately.”

When they finish, Burt shakes his head sadly, patting Blaine on the shoulder again before he makes his way to the sink, rinsing off the dishes. Blaine then joins him in the living room, idly watching television for a while, living in the fantasy of pretending this is what it could be like if he had a father when gravel outside gives way to tires.

“He’s home,” Burt says, turning off the TV, slowly making his way up the stairs. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

So Blaine waits at the counter.

***

“We need to talk,” Blaine insists, standing from his seat the moment Kal made his way in, pain still etching his features. “You can’t just ignore me.”

“Yes I can,” Kal counters, averting his gaze and posture. “I have no obligations to you.”

Blaine then glares, the heat of anger flaring in his chest. That was until he looks down, Kal’s ratty wrist cuff catching his eye. Droplets of dark red are dripping from within and hitting the floor with quiet plops.

He’s bleeding.

“You’re hurt,” Blaine worries, clouding everything else, reaching for Kal, who flinches away, once again. The whiplash of repeat wounds Blaine more than he expected to. He grits his teeth and cries out, “Just let me in!”

Kal, more distraught than Blaine had ever seen him, lashes out, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. Tears were raking their way down his pale, freckled cheeks. He lost total sense of himself, sending a trickle of fear down Blaine's spine.

“Blaine, I _can't_! There is only so much I can take... JUST LEAVE ME _BE_! I WISH I NEVER MET YOU!”

His words echo around the house, _stinging_ Blaine, who was preparing to respond when his audio finally catches up to him. Kal just called him _Blaine_. Not Ben.

Blaine’s eyes widen, and so do Kal’s, knowing his mistake. He looked utterly terrified.

“How did you-” Blaine tries, but Kal is running again.

This time, Blaine takes off after him.


	10. The Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: mild references to drug use and self-harm 
> 
> also note: watch for jumps back and forward in time, it is necessary for the telling of the story

Turns out, Blaine didn’t have to chase Kal for very long.

The sprinting pair only made just outside the front door before Kal collapsed onto the concrete, barely even conscious. 

After a whirlwind of _how does he know, how can he know, what does he know_ Blaine stopped dead in his tracks, ice chilling his blood. Kal needed help. Everything else could wait.

“BURT!” Blaine screamed, dropping to his knees and gently cradling a mumbling Kal in his lap. “ _BURT_ , KAL IS HURT I NEED YOUR HELP!”

Burt was out before Blaine could even finish his sentence, a determined concentration set in his features. But Blaine could see lines of panic threatening to show, causing Blaine’s chest to constrict painfully.

“Help me take him inside,” Burt commanded lowly, curling his arms under his limp son before carrying him up the steps. Blaine weakly cupped Kal’s head, feeling useless. He was barely doing anything at all.

The feeling of helplessness only increased when Burt crowded his son’s space after placing him carefully on the couch, feeling his forehead, brushing his bangs back over his sweaty head, muttering things under his breath. Did Blaine somehow do this to Kal? Was it stress, or something far, far worse?

“What’s wrong with him?” Blaine asked shakily, hovering, standing on his toes to see.

“Go get me the first aid kit, it’s under the sink in the bathroom down the hall,” Burt proceeded to say, his finger pointing in the right direction. Blaine immediately did as told.

When Blaine returned with the box of gauze, ointment and bandages, Burt was already removing his son’s wrist cuff, clearly deducing that the bleeding was coming from somewhere within. 

There was so much blood. Blaine felt queasy. His heart was in his throat, but he couldn’t leave now.

“Hold his wrist,” Burt grunted, examining his son’s wounds, tending and cleaning them. “But don’t look.”

Blaine respected Burt’s wishes. He didn’t want to see the name Kal bore without his permission, and especially in a circumstance such as this. So he chose to think about why those open slices were there, right above and below where the name would be. 

Before Blaine looked away he could tell that they were deliberate, save for a few hesitation marks. He definitely felt sick now. 

“There has to be something I could do,” Blaine managed, his throat tight and eyes stinging once Burt had his son all wrapped up.

Kal’s skin looked less waxy now, but he was still unconscious. Burt pressed his knuckles to his son’s forehead, feeling his temperature again.

“I think he’ll be alright,” Burt said quietly. “He just needs some rest. I’ll have him call you when he wakes.”

Severely saddened and disappointed that Burt was subtly kicking him out, he didn’t fight it; despite the fact that Blaine would wait several lifetimes for Kal to wake up. For now, all he could do was wait regretfully not in the same company.

“Thanks for..,” Blaine trailed off. _Thanks for what? Having me over to eat? Distressing your son to the point where he’d cut himself? Yeah, you’re welcome_ , Blaine thought bitterly.

“No problem, kid,” Burt said anyway, patting him on the shoulder like it was old hat.

Instead of going home, Blaine took a very long walk.

***

“Are you okay,” Rachel asked softly at lunch earlier that afternoon, noticing Kurt’s haggard appearance. 

Kurt replied non-committally, more in the form of a grunt. He was just so _exhausted_. After uncounted days, possibly weeks of managing to avoid Blaine, it was starting to take a toll.

He had suspicions that his body was torturing him as well as his heart.

Now that Kurt knew Blaine was his soulmate, he could _feel_ him. A feeling he didn't quite recognize at first, but now it felt like a lifetime since it began. Kurt could sense whispers of his emotions, even if they weren’t even in the same room. These days, Blaine was just as miserable as Kurt, especially when Kurt would just run away. Double anguish was enough to age somebody to the point of near-death.

Kurt’s wrist constantly hurt, but now that he was used it, it was at least bearable. 

And then there were the dreams. 

Blaine made an appearance in every single one of them, whether it being exchanging small ‘I love you’s’ or staring into each other’s eyes and seeing the universe unfold between them. All of which were so very vivid.

As it turned out, avoiding Blaine only made Kurt think about him more, whether or not it was voluntary.

Kurt just wanted it to stop. All of it. He wanted everything to just - fucking - _stop._

He didn’t want to worry about all the recruits, young and old eating contentedly around him. He didn’t want to worry about his father, or Blaine or anybody for that matter. Kurt just wanted to be by himself, his wrist blank and mind clear. He wanted to fall asleep, dream of serene place and hope to never wake up.

 _I never asked for any of this_ , Kurt despaired.

“ _Kurt_ ,” Rachel then whispered quietly when she was not satisfied with his response, placing a placating palm on his wrist. His nostrils flared at her use of his true name, turning from staring at the wall to glare at her.

“Had to get your attention didn’t I,” Rachel said matter-of-factly, tossing her long brown mane over her shoulder. In most lights, it looked nearly black, thus the reasoning for her alias ‘Raven.’

Rachel and her family were the only ones that knew the true names of Burt and his son since Kurt had known her since he was basically an infant. She was one of Burt’s right-hand people; always eager to do something for the revolution.

Kurt thought of her more of a cousin than anything else, really. He trusted her with his life, but on a day such as this he really didn’t feel like dealing with her. He’d rather take up the monotonous task of stapling pamphlets again.

“Can you just leave me alone,” Kurt complained, poking at his uneaten food. “Plan out what we’re gonna do for our Recruitment Ball or something, but don’t concern me about it just yet.”

Under normal circumstances Rachel would have huffed irritably at Kurt’s brashness, possibly left him alone at the table but instead today, she leaned forward conspiratorially. 

“Wanna have a good time tonight,” she asked hushedly. 

“Depends on what it entails,” Kurt replied, lifting his brow curiously and leaning toward her in turn. 

“I know this guy,” Rachel began, and Kurt rolled his eyes. She knew _a lot_ of guys. Not that Kurt was judging since he was basically just as promiscuous, but Rachel mingled more in the crowd that Kurt usually didn’t like associating with. They did… questionable things, but something in his gut already told him before Rachel was even finished talking that might as well, fuck it.

“His name is Puck, he’s got some good stuff, and he can get us into some clubs.”

Kurt shrugged. “Okay.”

Rachel, looking a little surprised couldn’t hide the smile stretching across her face. It was going to be quite a night indeed.

***

Kurt had only seen his father cry a couple times in his life. The first time, when Kurt was really young and walked in on his father looking at pictures under his bed. The second, when they went to Kurt’s Aunt’s funeral. The third, was when he woke up from passing out.

Burt wiped large tears from the creases under his eyes, leaning over Kurt, waiting for him to wake up. Kurt stirred, blinking away the fuzziness in his vision, feeling considerably better than when he had come home.

“Hi,” Kurt croaked. Burt smiled, sniffing a little, placing a hand on Kurt’s chest.

“Hello, son.”

Kurt swallowed, smacking his lips a little bit. He still had that horrible, sour taste in his mouth.

“Where’s-“

“He went home,” his father answered for him. Kurt felt both anxious and relieved at the news. 

Burt looked immensely sad again, so Kurt took his hand and squeezed it. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

Burt laughed hollowly. “I should be asking you that, Kurt.”

Kurt looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

Burt shook Kurt a little, grip tight. “Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry.”

Kurt bit his lip, trying not to cry. He was on the verge of sobbing, and he knew that once it started he would have no means of stopping it. He didn’t want his father to see him like that; so _weak_.

“That boy,” Burt nodded toward the door. “He loves you.”

Kurt’s heart twisted in anguish at his father’s words. A few tears slipped down.

“No he doesn’t,” Kurt replied in a hard, biting tone. _He only loves me because we were bound by the curse of soulmates. It isn’t real._

Burt was quiet for a long time, observing his son.

“I may miss a lot, Kurt but I do know a few things.”

Kurt blinked, rubbing tears from his cheeks. The bandaging scratched his skin, reminding him of what he did earlier, further increasing his shame and self-hatred.

“You don’t understand,” was all Kurt could say.

“I heard you call him Blaine..,” Burt hesitated, and Kurt felt his heart drop. He couldn’t have this conversation now, he wasn’t ready. He probably wouldn't ever be ready.

Kurt shook his head vigorously, but his father embraced him.

“I know that despite all I teach you, you’ll always wonder who Blaine is and where he is,” Burt whispered meaningfully. “But you don’t need to replace the real thing with a fantasy. Ben.. he’s a good kid. I just want you to be happy.”

Even though the conversation was difficult on Kurt’s body and mind, his father was opening up to him. They rarely but never did this. It made Kurt feel like a boy again, wanting to reach out; desperate for familial comfort and wise words that would shield him from the world.

So he told his father everything.


	11. Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: scenes of drug use and self-harm

Blaine walked for what seemed like hours, realizing too late it was a bad idea since it was such an unfamiliar place. The constant pounding of his feet against the pavement made him numb.

The sun slowly sunk below the horizon, the orange hue glaring his eyes until it was cold and chilly as he turned over endless, impossible possibilities over in his head.

His worry for Kal’s mental and physical health was in the forefront of his mind obviously, but there was no mistake that the fact that Kal had called him ‘Blaine’ instead of ‘Ben’ before passing out was quite troubling.

How could he have known? There was just no way.

No rational explanations came up except for maybe he’s always known. That he and Burt research every recruit that comes in just to make sure they can be trusted, even with an alias.

But that all seemed too treacherous. It would defeat the point of the whole organization. They wouldn’t arrange so many appearances at events, glue eye-catching posters to walls of all they stood for and speak with reverence if that were the case.

Everything about the movement was based in something that Blaine knew he could trust.

So there had to be _something else_ -

However, the more he thought about it, the more his skin crawled. The more it felt like he was closing in on a secret that he wasn’t allowed to know. 

The more like he felt like he was being _watched_.

Blaine stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder to make sure, but it didn’t calm him.

There was just so much he didn’t know.

The crawl up his spine and his restless mind reminded him of that fact. But it was so dark now and he needed to get home.

***

Kurt spent most of the time flowing between wake and consciousness trying not to remember the scraps of events from his evening.

A dull throb ached in his wrist in time with the thumping in his head. His mouth was dry and felt like was filled with cotton, and it only got worse each time he swallowed. An utterly uncomfortable tickle rolled just under his skin - his _spine_ \- churning the contents of his stomach each time he moved.

He allowed sensations of pounding music and slick skin invade him. Rachel’s short skirt sliding up as she splayed her legs in Puck’s lap, sliding her tongue down his throat while his salty, thick thumb pressed something thin and bitter into Kurt’s mouth. He was already so, _so_ drunk.

Kurt remembered dancing with a girl with full red lips and a gaunt face. She had gentle doe eyes and luscious hair but she reeked of cigarettes and her push-up bra was silky soft under his fingers because he just needed something to _touch_.

There was a euphoria he had never quite experienced before. He saw things, things he knew weren’t there, but it opened his mind up to endless roads that he wished he had more time to explore.

He remembered riding around in Puck’s cramped black truck, trash squished under his sticky-bottomed shoes; cool air was rushing through his hair, making his nose and ears numb. They passed around a harsh, burning joint that scorched Kurt’s throat, tears clouding his vision, causing all the lights passing by to be blurred and starred. 

Later, Kurt recalled feeling sick, leaving the group in the alleyway on the side of a seedy club which included Rachel giving Puck an obnoxiously loud, slurping blowjob - which he _most definitely_ didn’t feel like witnessing at this point in his life, or at any point in his life for that matter.

A blank-wrister that Kurt could not recall the name of followed him out and tried to kiss him, but Kurt pushed him away, repulsed now by the idea of any contact, and was just wishing to go home.

He walked, stumbled and jogged until he found his car, feeling so torn apart on the inside that he thought he was near death.

All traces of euphoria were gone except for the painful, hollow reality of how alone he was.

Nobody loved him.

He had no real friends to call his own. Blaine loved a fantasy. His mother was dead. His father was basically a stranger to him. But despite all that Kurt craved them more than ever.

He felt like he was _suffocating_.

Then there was the pounding in his head that shook and rattled his teeth, twisting his stomach, causing him to gag in pain, his hand lifelessly gripping the door handle of his car.

All of his emotions seemed too much to hold; he felt like they were going to burst through his clammy skin and consume him alive, signaling the defeat of such a young soul who couldn’t help but just give up.

Kurt choked, tears streaming into his gaping mouth and burning nose; there was so many rancid smells around him, but maybe it was just him. His entire body was crushing with an unfathomable agony - of _everything_ , and he begged anybody who would be willing to listen to make it stop.

It was recalled like he was an observer watching a horrifying film; in a whirlwind of color and sound, Kurt flung open his door and reached blindly through his console, gripping the hilt of a small knife that he kept on him at all times.

There was always comfort with having it whenever he was out in public for mild protection from possible radicals that were on a witch hunt for people like Kurt and those he associated with.

He mostly just heard stories about them in books and oral tradition, how the blank-wristers were the ones generally targeted for their “blasphemy” of not being branded by a name like everyone else.

Perhaps those who refused to acknowledge their wrists infuriated these people more, so it kept Kurt’s mind at ease to know he was armed in some way.

But despite that, Kurt longed to be one of them, the blank wristers - to be _free_.

He ripped his cuff off in one go before clumsily climbing into the driver’s seat, simultaneously pressing his forehead against the steering wheel and the cool blade against his heated skin.

A clawing revulsion of his desire to sever his skin almost made him heave again, but then he thought of Blaine again to distract himself. 

How blissfully unaware he must be of it all; how he had absolutely no idea he was the bane of Kurt’s existence despite how improbable and breathtaking the happenstance was.

Yet Kurt just wanted to slice the name away, and maybe - just _maybe_ \- things could go back to the way they were; so much less complicated.

Despite how immature and childish the wish was, Kurt cut a long stroke down next to the ‘B’, red liquid blooming in its wake, disturbing the flawless lettering of his wrist.

Kurt cried out, pulling away for a moment with a jagged shiver but then pressed down again, underlying ‘Anderson’ with a brutal finality. 

He wasn’t sure if he did it again or not because red blended with black and faded until he was passed out.

When Kurt woke he felt terrifyingly stone cold sober, hyper-aware of all that he had done. He wasn’t sure how long it had been.

He solemnly acknowledged that he had hit rock bottom and decided to drive home calmly, hoping the bleeding in his wrist could be stopped by his cuff.

The mistake he made, however was neglecting to check many missed calls and his voicemail, completely unaware his father had invited ‘Ben’ over to dinner that night.


	12. Keynote

When Kurt saw Rachel the next day at headquarters neither of them mentioned the activities of the night previous. 

There was a brief pause where Kurt tried not to imagine her lips wrapped around that guy Puck’s dick and she tried not to remember how awfully strung out Kurt looked when he was high.

Rachel also decided not to question Kurt about the white bandages wrapped under his wrist cuff.

They were good at this.

Both of them were experts in pretending that nothing was wrong; talented in ignoring things that made them uncomfortable and focused on trivial things.

“So I was thinking,” Rachel began excitedly, taking Kurt’s hands. She hesitated briefly when the tip of her finger brushed over the cloth. Her voice fell to a hush as others passed. Kurt then closed the door behind her as they made their way into his little ‘office’.

“Yes?” Kurt rose an eyebrow curiously, holding his mask of turmoil firm. But today, it was different. He felt changed; new. As if awake after the storm, unsure if another were to return. Kurt pushed aside envelopes and other miscellaneous items to clear a space to write down ideas.

“Since we got so many donations this year I think we should celebrate extensively for the ball,” she paused for dramatic effect. “And hold a masquerade for all the new recruits.”

Rachel’s grin was so wide it was almost comical.

“Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Kurt scribbled it down along with preferred dates that didn’t interfere with other press appearances or events. He then tapped the pen to his chin.

“I love the idea, but we have more pressing matters at the moment. We still have to prepare for the speech at the university this weekend.”

Rachel agreed and went off on one of her rants about how they need better security for Burt and the staff but Kurt’s mind wandered, reflecting over the conversation he had with his father.

Kurt had told him everything; about how Ben was actually Blaine and that Kurt had found out by accident and broke things off, and that’s why he had been acting out.

His father listened with rapt attention, his expression mostly unreadable until Kurt ran out of things to say. He didn’t know how to explain what he was going through without being completely honest, especially since it was eating him up.

Though, as much as it felt good to get it off his chest, Kurt had never felt more terrified in his life. He began to feel sick from the anxiety of waiting for his father’s response, who had promptly fallen into silence after his son was finished speaking, his gaze downcast to his fingers rubbing over Kurt’s knuckles comfortingly.

Kurt assumed that Burt had nothing to say; he seemed literally that dumbfounded, but little did he know his father had so much to say. Things Kurt never even dreamed of-

“Are you even listening to me?” Rachel interrupted snottily, getting in Kurt’s face. He blinked and shook the memory away, saving it for a later time. He got his pen ready again.

“Yeah, yeah... keep going.”

***

Blaine had never received a call from Burt or his son that night, despite what he promised. He waited all night, sleeping by his phone, just _hoping_ , too anxious to anything else but lay there paralyzed by his uncertainty. However, the sun came up and it was a new day promising the same old anxieties. That was the worst part, knowing that nothing had changed. 

Headquarters was oddly quiet and uneventful as the week wore on, despite all the planning for Burt’s big speech at the local university; the first one in history. Blaine felt useless, not knowing what to do, especially because all requested audience with Burt was turned down each time. Blaine wasn't sure how long he could go on like this; the rejection, the heartache... before he ran away.

Blaine only caught glimpses of Kal, but he was always surrounded by Burt’s staff or Raven holding boxes of fliers. Both of them, father and son were acting like nothing had happened.

Even worse, Blaine no longer existed in the world of Kal, nothing but an insignificant blip on his radar. He wanted to feel enraged about it, force Kal to know that this isn’t the way you treat people you know care about you.

But Blaine’s sensation of abandonment was almost paralyzing.

He should have made other friends other than the heads of command. Maybe he should have found someone to come with him from the foster home so he wouldn’t have found himself so alone in the massive, terrifying world around him. 

Blaine wanted to go back to being a child... he was more lost than ever. What was he to do now?

He couldn’t leave. He had nowhere else to go.

Blaine remembered reading books about Burt’s philosophy while no parents ever came to claim him. He was estranged; too old for anyone to start loving him, was made fun of by the other kids and then he was kicked out at 18. He would have been homeless and starving if he wasn't lucky enough to receive a mysteriously comfortable inheritance from his absent relatives to find a place to live afterward.

His only real friends or guardians always left him for something better. Always temporary; and Burt and Kal were no exception.

He had nobody to look to but himself.

Blaine could always find more books to read, but he didn’t even know how to get to the library, or anywhere really for that matter. Or maybe he was just afraid of doing things on his own. Nobody ever taught Blaine anything, how to be a full-fledged adult. To find himself... he thought he had found his purpose in the cause, so without that, he had nothing.

He cooped himself mostly up at home finding articles, papers, novels and the like to scour over on the internet until his duty to the cause called for his assistance. He could tell everybody he worked with liked him, but none of them made an effort to extend beyond acquaintances with mutual interests. 

Kal had been his only visitor; his first lover. Blaine sheets still smelled like his hair. Blaine’s heart still beat in time with the one next to him that night. Nothing else in the world had been more intimate than holding Kal in his arms. Indescribable.

The loss of someone he knew was so special not by his choice was the worst part of it all. Something Blaine was so painfully familiar with, but could never get used to. It left a foul taste in his mouth.

So Blaine couldn’t help but feel like he was being lied to as he watched Burt’s speech in the university courtyard that weekend.

There were _so_ many people, most likely record breaking crowds. There were closed off areas and caution tape along with countless law enforcement to make sure everything went accordingly. It was odd, seeing so many people with free wrists since the foster home.

There were even protesters with intense leers and offensive signs. Luckily, they remained quiet for the actual keynote. The only sounds were the hushed whispers of volunteers at the booths nearby, answering questions of students who seemed to be interested or simply just curious.

Blaine watched a pretty blond girl write her information down on the clipboard Raven was offering her, giving him a flashback to when that was him. He remembered the promise of a new life full of new promises and the right path, but he was still so scared.

He was _always_ scared. Blaine could tell that all the hesitating people making their way to and from class were too.

Free wrist, blank wrist, covered wrist or not, they were all in the same baffling world ever-spinning, ever-challenging. No matter how much humans tried to categorize themselves, it didn’t change anything of nature.

Things were just the way they were, and sometimes you just have to learn to accept it.

That’s why Burt’s voice always got them in the end. His pure conviction and sincerity. His genuine face and sparkling eyes; he knew what he knew to be truth, and Blaine found himself again wishing he knew the man behind the mask.

Blaine had spent a whole evening with him one-on-one, but only understood so much. He knew that Burt loved his son more than anything else, even the cause. He could tell that Burt was loyal and true to himself, something that Kal had adopted with ease.

But has Burt ever loved? _Truly_ loved? Blaine wanted to know that most of all.

Blaine twisted the cuff around his wrist to relieve minor aches and itches that have come with coming of age. 

While Burt spoke of reason and love, Blaine couldn’t help but sense the parallel from months ago when he had heard Burt speak in person for the first time; how enthralled and enraptured he was by it all.

How he had Kal right by his side.

Burt was like some vague father-figure Blaine could aspire to be because he was actually in reach. When Blaine picked up one of his many best-selling novels, it was the first time in his life he didn’t feel like he was spinning out of control.

But when false promises turn to abandonment, Blaine has to turn his back. It’s vital to his self-preservation.

He has to give them both up and move on.

How and to what, Blaine may never find out or actually succeed. He still holds on to vestiges of his parents even though he never knew them.

Blaine swallowed the ache in his throat and it stuck in his chest, knowing that Burt could never be a father to him. Kal would never let that happen.

It made Blaine want to hate Kal with every fiber of his being, but it was an utterly impossible feat.

Blaine knew, in his heart of hearts and soul of souls that he was in love. He didn’t know how so fast or why someone so complicated, but he knew it was true, and he knew that nothing could change that; up to the day he died. 

Love isn’t a choice, it’s just something that happens. And it’s dutiful commitment from then on out. So if somebody didn’t want to contribute and fight, it will be lost.

Kal just let it fall apart before they really became something.

Blaine blinked away his tears, really not wanting to cry in public so he attempted to listen, letting his eyes wander up to the stage once more.

His gaze drifted to his theoretical would-be-soulmate. Blaine’s wrist prickled at the sight.

Kal sat by the podium, watching his father with an even, cool gaze. He almost looked like statue, so still, so stunning. His leg was crossed neatly over the other, his palms fitted between them, nodding every so often.

Burt’s voice wavered for a second with something Blaine didn’t understand, but didn’t have time to wonder because he heard his name, whispered and urgent from next to him.

“ _Blaine_.”

His real name.

“Blaine-“

He clenched his jaw, angling his head toward the woman seated next to him. She had not been there a minute ago. It was like she was a ghost. However, he did not answer.

“I know you have some unanswered questions,” she continued softly, leaning in conspiratorially. “I know where you can find them.”

“How do you know my name,” Blaine whispered back through clenched teeth, turning to face her. His heart was pounding like he was prey about to be pounced on. His body was in fight or flight mode, ready to flee at a moment’s notice; attack if he had to.

The woman’s face was hooded by her long, framing hair. She wore dark sunglasses that contrasted her porcelain skin. Blaine was struck with an odd sense of familiarity that sent a pang to his heart and rattled his bones.

But he knew he had never met her before in his life. Had he?

“That doesn’t matter now,” she pressed, her voice nothing more that a murmur. “Here, take this.”

The woman leaned over and rummaged through her bag, her shirt sliding up over her hip to reveal a small black spider tattoo. Blaine doesn’t have long to admire it since she finds what she’s looking for and hands it to him.

It’s a small piece of paper with an address on it. What was he supposed to do with this? It’s not like he’d willingly walk into something sinister or dangerous.

Now he knew for sure that at least somebody was watching him. Fear clawed at his insides.

As if the woman could sense what he was thinking she lowered her lenses and gazed at him with miraculous eyes.

“You have to trust me,” is all she says, and for some reason, he wants to.

Blaine looks down at the piece of paper again, smoothing it under his fingers. This was all too peculiar for his taste.

“I-“

But the woman was gone.


	13. Revelation

The address took Blaine to quaint suburban neighborhood in nearby Lima, Ohio, which was something he definitely wasn’t expecting.

In the sketchy way he was approached by the mysterious woman at Burt’s speech, he was expecting a run down shack of some kind, or a dusty library, or a hole-in-the wall meeting place where convicts and felons hung out.

None of which were likely to give him answers anyway. But he still decided to investigate.

210 Wicker Place had a neatly trimmed lawn and an adorable dog barking in the window as Blaine pulled up. There was an old Buick in the driveway and a full mailbox leading up to the walkway. Blaine got out nervously and closed his door, not quite sure what he was getting himself into.

As he rung the doorbell, he reasoned that if all else would fail the most he would have to do was make an excuse that he was given the wrong address to a friend’s place. It couldn’t hurt to just check.

 _Obviously since I drove 75 miles_ , Blaine thought grumpily.

An elderly woman answered the door looking wary, her husband hovering behind her. They looked so _familiar_ -

“Are you Blaine?”

Blaine stared, his body stiff at her sudden question. He then nodded minutely, cursing himself for being so reckless. Too many people knew his true name now. But how much trouble could an old couple really be anyway?

The woman looked relieved, beckoning him inside.

“Please come in, we have a lot to discuss,” her husband said hurriedly.

“Who are you?” Blaine found himself asking once he was facing them in their living room, after admiring all the knick-knacks and abundance of books.

The woman placed her hand gently on his shoulder, smiling a bit sadly.

“We’re the Hummels.”

***

Kurt had nothing but time now to work on his heartache.

The speech was a success. Rachel was planning the most elaborate Recruitment Ball of all time with a masquerade twist that barely required any of his help. Kurt talked to countless people inspired by him and his father, but he couldn't brush the pit of hollow despair he felt like he was constantly falling into.

He missed Blaine more and more every day, and it was worse seeing and feeling him so near.

Today, however, Kurt couldn't feel him. He seemed far away, or at least out of reach. But he tried to not let it trouble him. _I shouldn't ever let it trouble me_ , Kurt reminded himself; he needed to push Blaine out. 

It was something Kurt needed to do for himself. He had to go on living his life contentedly as he once did before he met Blaine. One person, soulmate or not shouldn't take that autonomy away from you. It goes against not only everything he believes but it makes him feel insignificant. 

Kurt never wanted to be defined by anyone else except for his father. But maybe he didn't need that, either. He didn't need anyone, or at least he wished he didn't.

There wasn't a person in sight as Kurt walked out of headquarters and down a deserted alley to be finally be alone, deciding to take the long way home.

He waited for his mind to rejoin his solidarity and continue his contemplation about himself and his life when he realized he wasn't alone. A figure was walking toward him. Kurt squinted, trying to make out a face.

" _You_ ," Kurt practically snarled, feeling his face heat with a combination of strong emotion.

It was the psychic, or whatever she was that he had met a while back when he went searching for answers, except she looked quite a bit different; simpler clothing of a tank top and a long skirt with combed out hair.

She wore nothing on her left wrist but a dark blue handkerchief.

"Kurt," she greeted much more warmly than he had to begin with. She pushed the sunglasses she wore up her head, her entire expression relieved and utterly caring. Kurt didn't understand it.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt said coldly, walking briskly past her like she was merely a gust of wind. "Wanting to read my fortune? Take my money?"

"No," she replied calmly, keeping pace with him, putting her arm out in attempt to slow him down. "I don't have much time-"

"Oh are _they_ coming again?" Kurt mocked. "Maybe it's just the voices in your head-"

"They who I speak of are a very real threat," she interjected heatedly. "More than you will ever know."

"I don't have time for this," Kurt sighed, pushing past her.

" _Kurt Elizabeth Hummel_!"

He stopped in his tracks, mouth agape as her shrieks echoed off the cobblestones. He turned to look at her stern expression, not even beginning to comprehend how she knew his entire name. And there was no guessing that one.

"You do not speak to a lady like that," she continued in a softer tone, reaching out for him. "We have a lot to discuss, especially about your father."

"What of my father?" Kurt found himself asking, looking her right in the eye, relaxing slightly.

When on all but a few occasions Kurt felt most uncomfortable making direct eye-contact with a stranger, something about this woman made him feel safe and secure. That sense of trust tickled his intuition like the last time they met.

"First of all, you must never tell him of our meeting."

Kurt shook his head. "I won't." 

She touched him then, gentle and soft on his forearm, leaning down to speak in his ear. What she whispered made him gasp.

***

There was some static feedback in Blaine’s brain before he actually registered what they had said.

The _Hummels_.

They had the same last name as the name on his wrist, and he knew for certain this was absolutely no coincidence.

He was sent here.

But why? It didn’t make sense, none of this did.

These weren’t the kinds of answers Blaine was expecting. He had entirely different questions.

“What do you want from me?”

Panic. Pure, flooding panic that drained Blaine cold until he could feel nothing else but that. He crouched in a defensive position, feeling like he was about to be assaulted by this elderly duo. Their eyes widened, clearly surprised by Blaine’s reaction.

“This is a safe place,” the woman assured, her expression eager and sympathetic.

“How do I know that?” Blaine flung words at them wildly, eyes darting around the room. “How do you know so much about me?”

“If you calm down we can explain,” the old man said in a commanding, resounding voice that made Blaine feel like he was experiencing a severe case of deja vu.

 _Why were they so familiar, have I met them before?_ Blaine asked himself, grabbing his chest and taking deep breaths in attempt to calm down.

"Who was it that sent me, that woman?" Blaine demanded.

"A friend," the old woman promised, making her position with her husband more passive as to not appear any more threatening.

The old man walked slowly away from her, eyes on Blaine as he made his way to the lower part of the bookshelf next to him. He proceeded to pull out something the size of a scrapbook and covered in dust. He brushed it off, coughing a little.

Blaine watched as he flipped through the still-glossy black and white pages, nostalgia evident in his eyes, a small smile wrinkling his weathered dimples.

"Here," he offered once he found the page he was seemingly looking for. Blaine stepped forward and carefully took the book from him - a yearbook, he found out and looked down at the page.

Rows and rows of faces with really bad haircuts and goofy smiles. It was the class of 1979, rightly so, but was this supposed to mean anything to him?

"I don't understand-" Blaine began, but then he _saw_.

There was a shock in his chest when he saw the much younger face of Burt, youthful, round and promising. He had _hair_ and confidence with those same sparkling eyes that could emanate from the years lost. Blaine traced and followed his finger over to the side of the page to where all the names were listed.

Burt.. Hummel.

 _Hummel_.

That was his last name. Burt Hummel, the man, the legend, the leader of the revolution. These were his parents, how could Blaine not realize sooner? They were two perfect halves that made up that specific physicality. But then-

That meant..

His son was a Hummel too. _Kal_.

Kal, the boy Blaine was so deeply in love with. Kal- _Kal_ was an alias.

Blaine froze, the book falling from his grasp. It hit the floor surprisingly muffled by the carpet, but Blaine paid no mind. His fingers rushed to undo the bands that bound his cuff and basically tore it off to feast on the name upon his wrist.

 _Kurt Hummel_. His soulmate. His one and only that he had rejected for most of his young life. A name that always haunted his dreams and nightmares. A name he knew that shouldn't mean anything since they would never meet.

But was he-?

"Our grandson," The old woman answered for him, so _affectionately_. She was now much closer, her head bowed over Blaine's outstretched wrist. Her fingers reached with intention to touch, but she gave Blaine space, for he was having the revelation of a lifetime.

Kal was Kurt. He was _Kurt_. Kurt Hummel. _His_ Kurt.

Everything now made sense. Everything was perfect. Everything was _beautiful_. It didn't have to be complicated or painful anymore. It was so, _so simple_.

" _Kurt_ ," Blaine whispered passionately, and it felt so _right_. It felt like he should have known all along, but was too blind to see what was right in front of him. Emotion overtook him in the most enchanting of ways, forgetting that he had company near.

None of that mattered, only Kurt.

Then, a single tear fell on the name spoken, sealing fate.


	14. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> note: key plot devices are interwoven in this last chapter gearing up for the very end

“A mother never forgets the name she gave her child,” she whispered, her moistened lip caressing Kurt’s earlobe.

Kurt shook at her words, growing limp in her arms, but his grip tight like a vice on her back. He was sure he was barely breathing at this point. She continued.

“I have been watching over you for a long time my son,” she told him, and then she trembled. “Your father thinks I have left him long ago never to return. But I had no choice. They.. _they_ came after me.”

Kurt pulled away and looked into her eyes, suddenly realizing that they shared the same. They grounded him there, kept him from falling. _She_ kept him from falling. She was everything he needed to keep from losing sense of himself.

“Who are _they_?” Kurt asked, his voice small and child-like. It was the most vulnerable he ever felt, even when he was with Blaine, and he prayed with all his might that this wasn’t a dream. It was a dream he had before.

“Honey,” his mother murmured, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes. “There are many dangers for people like me, dangers you could have faced without the protection of your father.”

Kurt started slowly piecing the everything together. Were they the people who Kurt had always heard about in the news? Committing murders, burning down buildings, threatening families? What was their cause?

“Why you?” Why would anyone want to hurt someone like his mother? What was wrong with her? Was she really-

She removed her blue bandana in response, offering her left wrist for her son to see. Kurt saw that it was blank, no name. She was a blank-wrister. It made sense, now. He should have realized before.

“They are so aptly named,” his mother lowered her voice, putting her safeguard back on. Kurt’s hair was standing on end. “The Purity Script Brotherhood. They are well-funded, secretive and in great numbers. Many of them are military trained, excellent trackers and know how to cover up their crimes without a trace.”

Kurt felt something low in his gut clench in terrifying despair. “How did you evade them for so long?”

His mother suddenly looked very tired, but emotion touched her eyes. “Myself and a few others like me took care of each other. We are informally named the Spider Fellowship. I know it sounds silly, but it’s what kept us alive.”

She then rolled up her shirt and revealed a small runic looking spider tattooed to her hip, almost identical to the one his father has on his forearm. Kurt’s breath caught in his chest, a million questions coming his way, but none of them escaping his mouth.

“My best friend was Ann,” Kurt’s mother continued softly, her voice rough with loss. “Ann Anderson.”

Kurt’s heart stopped, his eyes widening. “Mom-“

“Kurt my dear,” his mother interrupted urgently. “I need you to give this to her son, I believe you know him.”

She smiled knowingly before digging through her small satchel. Tears welled into Kurt’s eyes, he was unable to stop them. This was all way too much to handle at once. His mother was not only appearing to him after all this time of him thinking she was dead, but now she was saying she knew Blaine’s mother too - a woman who more than likely gave her son up too for fear of his safety.

Blaine, his soulmate. They have always been connected in other ways than just their wrists all this time.

Kurt felt like he was falling again. That was then his mother handed him a folded up letter with an unbroken seal, it looked weathered with age. Kurt’s tears dripped onto it. He tried to reign in his quiet intakes of breath, but he was shaking now.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, wiping away Kurt’s tears, framing his face and looking deep into his eyes. “Don’t cry my child, everything’s going to be okay.”

“It is?” It was all Kurt could manage, gripping the letter tight.

“Yes, I promise,” his mother told him, holding him close. Kurt could die in her touch. “You just need to listen to me, do as I say-“

But before she could say more, his mother broke away into a horrifying scream, falling suddenly to the ground. Horror. Pain. Kurt went to her, whipping his head around, stone-cold fear chilling his blood. Were _they_ here now? Were they going to die?

“ _Mom_ , mom!” Kurt grabbed her, desperately, looking for any wounds, currently uncaring of his own potential physical state. “Are you hurt?”

“My.. my _wrist_ -“ 

She cried out again, her teeth grinding and hot tears spilling from her eyes. Kurt ripped her blue bandana away, smoothing his fingers over her blank wrist until-

Dark letters, black tinged with red started forming, searing themselves into her flesh by some unknown force. It began with a swooping B.

“Whats..h-happening.. to me-“

“I don’t know!” Kurt’s heart was pounding erratically, beating in his ears, making blood rush and pump to all parts of him to the point where he felt like he could do anything. He needed to help her, but what could he do?

“Hospital? Headquarters infirmary?” 

His mother just shook her head, which was now red and sweating, pain lining every feature of her beautiful face. Kurt looked down again, and then she exhaled a breath of pure relief.

“It’s stopped,” she gasped, and grew limp in Kurt’s arms.

He lifted her wrist close, disbelieving. There was a name there now, fresh and brand new. It was much akin to what Kurt remembered when his formations slowly came in until they were finished when he was a boy of 12.

But it wasn’t just any name. It was - _Burt Hummel_.

“Oh my god.”

“What is it?” Kurt’s mother sounded weak, but she managed to lift her head to see. When she did, she stiffened. Kurt waited with baited breath.

With sudden strength she pulled herself up, gripping Kurt’s own wrist tight, leftover pain of his self-affliction tingling out to his nerve-endings. Her eyes were wide and trusting.

“Kurt-“

“Go to him,” Kurt interjected. “ _Go_ -“

So she did, and so did he.

The masquerade was tonight.

***

_“Kurt, my son. Sometimes I envy you.” Burt finally started speaking as if it was the beginning of an insightful speech. “In the face of all that you’ve been given, good and bad, still to this day you know how to surprise me.”_

The Ball was in full swing. There were gowns more stunning that Kurt had ever seen, hair styled so elegantly he almost felt like he didn’t belong, despite how smartly he dressed tonight.

Tonight was the night that changed everything. Kurt was decided. Kurt was on a mission. Kurt felt more certain than he ever had. It was unfamiliar; it was comfortable. It was as if he was destined to arrive here. _Now._

_“I’m going to tell you a secret, Kurt. I… I used to be like them, the commoners. I would have moved the earth and the sun to find my soulmate, trust me on that. But yours.. yours fell unknowingly into your lap."_

_There were tears again in his father’s eyes._

_“Did you ever find her?” Kurt couldn’t help but ask, especially now after all was out on the table._

_Burt gazed through Kurt, lost in his memories._

_“Oh yes.. yes I did.”_

It was then Kurt saw him, _Blaine_ , in a black and red mask, his hair gelled like it was the day they met. The suit he wore tailored him so perfectly that it broke Kurt’s heart.

But then he remembered, his heart didn’t have to be broken anymore. Never again.

_“Who was she?” Kurt kept asking, his voice weak, fingers wandering to his bandaged wrist. This was the first time they ever really talked about her._

_His father finally focused on his son in the present, his eyes still watery. “She was your mother, Kurt. A free spirit she was, more beautiful than anything else in the world. She couldn’t love me because her wrist lacked my name.”_

The crowd was Kurt’s obstacle. He had to get to Blaine, he had to. This was the defining moment.

And that’s when their eyes met across the room, almost like they were meeting again for the first time.

_There were so many things Kurt wanted to ask; why does an unmatched wrist mean she didn’t love us? How did she die?_

_But Burt put a finger on his son’s lips to quiet him, to calm him in such a fragile state._

_“What I’m about to say is very important, Kurt, so please heed my words.”_

Kurt felt a crushing need to reach Blaine, to touch him, _to be one with him_. More incredible than any sensation he had ever experienced in his entire life. He could see that the desperation was mirrored.

He felt like a target now, pushing toward his goal. Cool air was brushing unfamiliarly against his now free wrist, tingling his healing wounds. Kurt’s whole body ached to join with his one and only. 

Kurt blinked, small tears soaking into his white-laced mask. He was the one in all white tonight.

They were closer now.

_That boy.. Ben - Blaine, whoever he is, he still really doesn’t know who you are by name, but yet he wants nothing more than to be with you. He loves you for you, don’t you see? By trying to be with you he is rejecting the name. He isn’t in love with a fantasy, Kurt. He’s in love with you, son - you._

The two of them reached each other then, a mutual understanding between them, like two orbiting planets circling and coming home for the solstice. 

Blaine bowed to his lover, reaching out to take Kurt’s hand, offering to dance. Their eyes never left each other. 

But instead of taking Blaine’s hand, Kurt offered him something much more. He presented himself, left wrist up, placing it in Blaine’s waiting hand. The name shone, clear as day, and Blaine feasted upon it, tears of pure joy clouding his eyes.

_Think on it my son, heal. Give Blaine time to put together the pieces, it’s only a matter of time. Then, when you are both ready, take that step together. That is what love is all about. A commitment to each other; a choice to have an eternity together.”_

“Hello Blaine Anderson,” Kurt finally said, the music and all others drowning out and away until it was only them. “My name is Kurt Hummel.”

Blaine shuddered, closing his eyes, tears dripping out of the corner of his eyes, clinging to his lashes. He bowed lower, pressing his lips to Kurt’s wrist.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, and then he pulled Kurt in to close the distance between their waiting lips, lips that waited a lifetime.

They danced, lost it in all, lost in the beautiful reality of everything. They were connected, in emotion and physicality. Nothing would ever separate them, it was impossible now.

Kurt and Blaine faded into their futures when similarly across the room, another, a mystery woman offered Burt Hummel her own wrist, and he fell to his knees.

Together at last.


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a/n: this is it guys, thanks for taking this journey with me :)

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt whispered between their parted lips, his breath warm, tickling and promising before going in for another gentle kiss. Their lips were smooth and soft, comforting and perfect, sliding along with a modest amount of tongue as Blaine returned with a reverent, “ _Kurt_.”

They could say each other’s names over and over again until they were old and grey, never getting enough of the fact that they were each other’s eternal; _Kurt and Blaine_.

Kurt sat in Blaine’s lap, fingers roaming, curling around the nape of Blaine’s heated neck. He ground down, whining quietly as he felt Blaine hot and hard against him, their embraces inviting and secure.

“I love you,” Kurt told him when he pulled away again, emotion in his throat. Blaine’s eyes sparkled with similar associations, cupping Kurt’s cheek, thumb brushing over his moistened mouth.

“I love you too.. _Kurt_.” And there it was again. The name. It was his; both of theirs.

“Oh, _Blaine_ -“

They kissed again, almost like they were running out of time, nothing short of utterly desperate as they gripped each other, pulling each other impossibly closer. Would one lifetime together be enough?

Blaine broke away, kissing down Kurt’s neck, worshipping along his collarbone, making his way down to Kurt’s left wrist which today was just clad in exposed skin, home of the name of yours truly.

The scars there were faded a bit, but still shone in the bright light of the television, reminding them both of their journey to each other, but also what is ahead for them. Blaine kissed Kurt’s wrist gently, his lips brushing over the thickest scar as if his love could heal, and maybe it could.

Kurt closed his eyes and soaked in his happiness, so pure and true, relishing in how light he felt now, his heart now free of all burdens.

They could only enjoy their bliss a bit longer when the television playing went from commercial to the program they were eagerly expecting. Kurt stirred, moving to sit next to Blaine instead, twining their fingers.

“Shhhh, it’s starting.”

Blaine just smiled, even though they were both being rather quiet, eyes fixed on the TV.

The host introduced their guests, “Burt Hummel and Felicia Dawson!” Kurt’s parents - _together_. Kurt nearly choked up at the thought.

The two of them seated themselves close on the love-seat available, almost mirroring Kurt and Blaine’s position with all the formalities out of the way. When Burt reached over to shake the hand of the host, Kurt still received a small jolt of seeing his father’s wrist bare, his mother’s name stark and prominent along the tendons.

Once they all seemed comfortable and settled, the host asked eagerly, “So how about we begin with the story of how you two met?”

Kurt’s mother laughed, and she was just so, _so_ stunning. “Oh, that would take up more than the time allotted.” And then she just gazed at Burt like nothing else in the world mattered, placing her hand on his knee. Kurt wondered if he looked like that with Blaine.

It was a vision seeing two people together who were so truly and infinitely meant to be.

“Well then how about answer some fan questions? We sure have a high demand for them today.” Nobody objected to the idea it seemed, when the camera panned to a young woman with large breasts and angled glasses. She wore a simple black leather cuff upon her wrist, typical of the cause. She introduced herself.

“I’ve been a supporter since the very beginning,” she claimed, straightening her glasses, looking a bit nervous. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed her nerves. “Burt, how do you respond to the recent accusations that with revealing yours and your son’s names, forfeiting the cuffs and aliases and allegedly uniting with your true soulmates hypocritical?”

Burt looked gravely serious, reminding Kurt of when he admitted all his secrets to his father only a few short weeks ago.

“I am truly humbled by all that has happened recently, but I knew that I would have to come back and explain or atone for said events eventually, to my loyal followers.” Burt paused, rubbing his chin. “I still believe in the principal ideals, of course. I will never abandon the cause, never, for as long as I shall live. However, a core tenant of my philosophy has always gone down to choice. My son found his soulmate, through all obstacles and impossibilities without even knowing it was him, but still managed to fall in love. My son has always kept his options open his entire life, and always done right by me and our beliefs, but beyond all that, the person he decided to be with was his soulmate by happenstance.”

“Humbled?” The host prompted, looking deeply moved.

“Yes, humbled,” Kurt’s father agreed. “I am humbled by the fact that there is still so much to learn about the mystery surrounding the concept of soulmates. Please don’t let this ever discourage you. There is so much in this world that we don’t know, and in any aspect of your life, it is important to remain skeptical, as well as keep an open mind.”

“Very wise words, don’t you agree?” The murmuring of consent in the crowd seemed to.

“If that’s alright,” Burt asked courteously, lifting himself up boldly. “My beautiful Felicia and I would like to make an important announcement on behalf of the cause.”

The host seemed quite excited indeed. “Yes, yes you may.”

“I am pleased to announce the emergence of the Hummel-Dawson foundation as a brother to my previous,” Burt announced. He then looked to his wife-to-be and waited for her to pick up where he left off.

“With all the revenue generated by Burt’s recruits, volunteers and supporters over the last ten years, we are going to spread awareness of the Purity Script Brotherhood for the first time. We will provide refuge for victims, offer support and housing, even counseling. We are all about love and how a person chooses to live their lives. We will be victims no longer of the PSB’s dark power.”

Kurt couldn’t help but admire her, his mother facing her all her fears, facing those so publicly that she’s hid and ran from for nearly two decades. She was more perfect than Kurt could ever imagine, and this was only the beginning. 

This was something entirely new, and Kurt was ready to take the next step in his life. He was born ready to change the world.

The host looked enraptured by her bravery as well, curious, tentative, “Please can you tell us more about your experience fleeing them?”

And the rest was history.

Kurt wanted to share this moment with Blaine, but he noticed his lover was looking a little troubled. Kurt followed his gaze to the letter, which still remained unopened.

“You haven’t read it.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m afraid,” Blaine admitted. “When you gave it to me after the Ball, I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.”

Kurt took his hand. “I’m here, I’ll always be here. I promise you that everything in that letter is everything you want and more.”

Blaine looked to Kurt, eyes shining. “How do you know that?”

Kurt leaned in and kissed him gently, finger under his chin. “I just do.”

Blaine pressed their foreheads together, eyelashes brushing against Kurt’s cheeks with each blink. He sniffled a little, readying himself. 

“Stay with me?” Blaine’s voice was so innocent. Kurt understood it, the return to innocence in the face of the unknown, especially when it had to do with parents.

“Open it when you’re ready,” Kurt whispered, kissing Blaine’s cheeks, stroking his hair. “Trust me.”

“Okay.”

Blaine pulled away and reached for it, taking it carefully into his hands. Kurt kept touching him, letting Blaine know he was there for him, and that it was okay to take his time.

“I wasn’t ready for what my mother told me,” Kurt told him. “But I’m glad she did. Meeting her was the best day of my life aside from meeting you.”

Blaine looked up and smiled, so bright and so pure that made Kurt’s heart ache in the best way possible.

Blaine broke the seal, and saw there was a small spider on it. Then, they both took deep breaths before reading.

 

_My dearest Blaine,_

_I wish I could have known you, though still to this day I know that I will be proud of whatever you do with your life. If you are anything like your father, foster homes shouldn’t give you any sort of trouble. I just had to keep you safe. After your father died, I had nobody to protect me; nobody to protect you. I joined the Spider Fellowship and met a beautiful human, a blank-wrister like myself named Felicia. She had a son too, she told me. She left him with his father when he was barely a year old, so she understood my pain. She also said she checks on him every once in a while, and I know that when I can, I shall do the same for you. I love you, my beautiful son, and never forget that. Let the stars shine upon you, giving you a soulmate whom of which you can flourish with._

_Mom_

 

Blaine folded up the old letter, tears dripping down his nose. Kurt held him as he mulled everything over. His parents never abandoned him. They were running. They had a reason. They loved him.

“What happened to her?” Blaine wondered, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks. He asked out-loud, even though he wasn’t sure if Kurt would know or not.

“My mom told me and my Dad that she grew very ill, and they had limited supplies to treat her.” Blaine looked like he was going to cry again, so Kurt quickly added, “But don’t worry, baby, they said that the brutality your father faced wasn’t her fate. She fell asleep in the arms of those that loved her dearly in the Fellowship.”

Blaine nodded, taking in the information. It was bittersweet, but it was much greater than he could have ever hoped for or imagined. Kurt was right.

Kurt, his soulmate, forever and always.

They would face the rest of their years together, and now Blaine was no longer afraid.


End file.
